Never Say Never
by C.M. Bones
Summary: Neither of them could have anticipated what being partners would imply this time. And neither of them believed that betrayal would ever threaten their partnership. But you know what they say…
1. Hang on

**_A/N: Finally we feel confident enough to start posting this story. We've been working on it for a while now and have talked (well, mailed) about it even more. We're very excited and hope that you will be, too, when you've read our first chapter. Enjoy!_**

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**Chapter 1 – Hang on**

It was here. It had to be here. A creepy dark building in an abandoned area. A perfect place to hide, with no one around to ask difficult questions, and no one around to hear the screams. Hodgins was always right, wasn't he? And this time, so much was at stake.

Once inside, Booth cautiously moved forward, his fingers squeezing the reassuring shape of his weapon. Although outside the fierce winter sun cast its light serenely over Washington DC, an ominous darkness enveloped him between the rough and fairly decayed walls of the deserted building. The air was freezing cold and a musty smell reached his nostrils, making him slightly nauseous.

It was hard to realise that his partner had been kept somewhere in here for two weeks. A chilly draft caressed his face unpleasantly, sending shivers down his spine. He knew she wasn't dead but he also knew she wouldn't be unharmed.

The pictures had shown as much.

_Damned son of a bitch. I'll get you, you worthless piece of crap._

Too bad for the bastard, Angela had been able to figure out the location of this building after Hodgins had found tiny pieces of dust of some sort in the last envelope. The envelopes always contained a picture of Brennan displayed with the latest newspaper, and a polite request to destroy all the evidence and drop the case as soon as possible, for with every day passing, he would inflict something 'uncomfortable' upon the brilliant forensic anthropologist he kept hostage to blackmail the FBI.

In the first picture, delivered to Cullen's office the day after Brennan's disappearance, she had looked fairly normal considering her situation. Her clothes were clean and her hair sat neatly draped over her shoulders. She'd been in another location then, and her jaw was clenched and her expression stubborn, as if to let him know she was hanging in there, patiently waiting to be saved. By him.

But with the days that had passed, the pictures had grown more gruesome. They would show a glass of water, for instance, and Brennan eyeing it eagerly while being bound to a chair. Or a chicken wing being held outside her reach mockingly. Only her eyes betrayed her then, for she'd sat up straight and was obviously trying to ignore the food.

By now she'd be dehydrated and undernourished, if the killer hadn't given her anything after taking the pictures. Somehow Booth knew he hadn't. Not a sufficient amount, at any rate.

The pictures would arrive daily, but at changing hours. The third one had been a close-up from her face, displaying her black eye. The picture had eaten at Booth. Never in his life had he felt that hopeless, useless, desperate. The killer was mocking him, using his partner as a play toy to upset him.

Eventually, after two exhausting weeks, the last picture had arrived. The one with the dust that turned out to be of a rarely-used material and could only be found in a number of buildings in DC. The one that was going to nail this guy's ass.

Brennan's physical deterioration since Booth had seen her last was shocking. Her auburn hair was lifeless; her eyes were dull; her skin was pale and drawn. She looked even thinner than when she had forgotten to eat because she worked so hard. He was running out of time to save her. And he knew he had to; both for her and himself, for he was a man of honour and responsibility. Above all because he had made it his duty to protect his partner.

Surely he would normally try to suppress this need because Temperance Brennan was perfectly capable of taking care of herself –her physical self, at any rate, but now it was overwhelming. Actually the feeling had been growing ever since she had disappeared, or rather, got abducted. She was his partner, his friend, and sometimes she even was his girl. He had already failed at making sure that nothing bad happened to her. He would not forgive himself if he did not succeed in bringing her back home this time.

The thing he liked best about her was her never-failing honesty, and what he particularly valued about their relationship was that they were equal.

Booth knew Brennan to be brave and courageous and never-faltering, yet a true lady. He knew she was holding on for him, to buy him time.

And now, he was going to live up to her expectations.

* * *

Temperance Brennan slowly opened her eyes and coughed, causing her throat to burn even more. She glanced around, with the foolish hope to find a glass of water within her limited reach, but the room was desperately empty and dark. How could she drink anyway? The ropes, tightened too much around her wrists and ankles, cut painfully into her flesh. How long before he'd come back? Hopefully, he'd give her some bread this time. Something energising, she needed that to stay alert. She knew that he needed her alive; as long as he hadn't already obtained what he wanted. But he would not, because they would never give up. Booth, Angela, Hodgins, Zach and even Cam, would never give up. They would find her eventually. She had not died when she was buried alive, she would not die here. She would hang on, no matter how much time it would take. She knew she could.

She bent and stretched her stiff legs a couple of times and then tried to get to her feet. _Ouch._ The cold, hard floor wasn't exactly stimulating her circulation. She could feel every muscle in her body ache as she was moving, or rather shifting into a slightly different position. But, day after day, she had somehow got used to it. She had also lost all sense of time. The small windows at the top of the high walls were concealed with black plastic, so that she couldn't distinguish the day from the night. She may have been here for days, weeks, or months. It was not important anyway. The only important thing was to hold on.

She managed to sit up straight and bent her legs so that she was as small as possible, resting her forehead on her knees, her hands tied behind her. The cold stiffened her joints as much as her muscles, and to stay as warm as possible she had to minimise her exposure to the chilly air, hence she curled up and stayed that way for as long as she could, until she had almost frozen in place and needed to change her position.

She didn't feel the hunger anymore, but she was virtually, perhaps literally quite soon, dying of thirst. Her throat was burning like hell and the tape covering her mouth made it hard to swallow. She wondered how long she had slept. Her cheeks were sticky with dried-up tears, dust and what had to be blood. He had hit her several times, for the pictures, and the last time, he had punched her in the face.

A muffled noise made her startle. She raised her head, pricked up her ears. The place was so quiet and resonant that she was able to hear every single noise. And every noise made her startle now, for the constant anxiety was wearing her down. If she would be mad and delusional when she got out of here, she wouldn't be surprised.

She could hear footsteps now. It had to be him. Water, at last. She would have some water. And some blows. But blows were not important anymore. She could bear the pain, not the thirst. The steps were approaching and stopped at the door. It was odd, though. His steps were usually heavier, and his pace faster and more confident.

The door opened slowly. Usually, he pushed it more violently, in a deafening noise which intensified her headache. She couldn't help trembling all over. Had he finally got what he wanted? Or was he tired of this little game? Was he going to get rid of her? A burning tear managed to slide down her cheek, soon followed by another one. Crying had been the only way she knew to relieve some of her distress. Kicking, running, hitting stuff; it was all made impossible by her restraints.

She held her breath, her eyes focused on the silhouette. It was not him. Definitely not. He had sent one of his flunkeys to do the dirty job. She was almost relieved when she saw the gun. At least, it would be quick and not too painful. The man quickened his pace. She believed he had needed some time to let his eyes adjust to the darkness and make out her form. She watched him putting his gun back in the holster he wore on his belt. And shook with anguish when a knife appeared in his hand instead.

Panic took the upper hand on her. She hid her face between her knees, her body shaking with fear and her sobs muffled by the tape. She let out a moan when she felt his hands on each side of her head, with the handle of the knife touching her left cheek, forcing her to look at him. And when she did, she thought that the face in front of her was an illusion. Hunger, thirst, exhaustion, pain- it had happened a few times before. There appeared to be a point where you couldn't trust your own senses anymore. Especially not your sight. But it couldn't be him. The killer never showed her his face and talked to her as little as possible, hiding his voice by whispering only to her. Of course, in the beginning, she'd tried to get him to talk to her, to reveal his identity, then to give her information as to where she was, exactly, then to tell her what he wanted. He'd granted her the latter piece of information, all too keenly. "Oh God, you're never going to get them to destroy evidence," she'd told him, at the same time realising he wasn't going to handle her with care. "Maybe you should just look a little more sad and hurt and they'll make an exception, what do you reckon?" had been his menacing answer, and then he'd kicked her in the ribs.

"It's me Bones," the voice whispered. "I'm here now, it's all over. Hang on."

She felt his forehead resting on hers for a moment and heard the whispering voice again. The blade of the knife slightly flashed in the darkness. He got back to his feet and went behind her. She held her breath again. But a few seconds later, her hands were free, and somehow, she knew that it was really him. Suddenly it became a lot easier to breathe.

It was really Booth, he was here, cutting her restraints, and soon he would get her out of this hellhole.

* * *

She kept looking at him with dull eyes, as if she was clinging onto him with her gaze instead of her body. Booth tenderly took her arms in his hands and pulled her up bit by bit, allowing her to carefully stretch her sore muscles, until she was standing up straight. Then he stepped closer to her, all but completely closing the space between them, and reached to remove the duct tape. For a moment she was able to inhale his scent and it calmed her down so much, it eased her nerves and at this point she wouldn't mind if he carried her out of the building so she could cling onto him and feel nothing but his warmth, instead of the cold clawing at her.

A sharp intake of breath told him he'd hurt her lips so he stopped in his motion, but suddenly Brennan grasped his wrist to hold it in place and with her other hand jerked away the tape in a quick movement. Her chapped lips started to bleed in two or three places, but she didn't seem to care or feel the pain. She looked dishevelled, she looked exhausted, she looked… raw. She used to be so soft and smooth.

He was desperate to make contact with her after having been apart for so long and under these horrible circumstances, but he was afraid that he would crush her fragile form in his embrace so he merely reached out his hand and cupped her cheek with it. She still hadn't spoken; though the fact that she sighed and tilted her head so she could rest it in his palm told him she trusted him.

But the second Brennan had closed her eyes, the world of sounds became more prominent and she noticed what she hadn't –but should have before. Footsteps. This time she was sure; they were _his_. Her eyes shot open and she tried to warn her partner, but she was too late. Behind Booth, the killer had crept up on him and now swayed what must have been a led pipe over his head, ready to attack.

"Booth!" she yelled, but all to no avail. The blunt instrument came crashing down on Booth's spine, seriously injuring him. He immediately lost control over his muscles and dropped to the floor, momentarily passing out from the pain.

_No, no, this is not happening. I can't let this happen,_ Brennan thought frantically and crouched down quickly to grab for Booth's gun. She found it but the killer had also reacted and lunged himself forward to take her down with him, but she threw herself to the side just in time and he missed.

As she hit the floor she gasped in pain, but her determination overpowered her pain by far and she jumped back to her feet, training the gun on the attacker and firing, not aiming at any body parts in particular, merely out to hit and demobilise him.

Apparently the bullet had penetrated his leg and Brennan quickly turned to her partner. He was still passed out so she rolled him onto his stomach and carefully palpated the vertebrae of his spine, feeling if any of them were broken. Eventually she reached a large bump and realised his back might indeed be broken.

"Bones…" he uttered and she quickly but carefully rolled him over again so it would be easier for him to breathe. "My back… ouch…"

Brennan bent over him and hugged his torso.

"You okay?" Booth asked her as he brought his hands to her back, clenching his teeth to suppress a moan of pain, yet noticing how horrifically skinny she felt under the thin fabric of her blouse.

"You're here," was her simple reply.

"Yeah, well, I'd like to get out of here now, if you don't mind," he attempted at being funny, but she smiled so it worked.

"I don't know if your back's broken," she admitted.

"Naw it's nothing. Just- help me to my feet, will you?"

She did and cursed her weak state for not allowing her to support him more.

"So where's sicko?" Booth asked as he glanced around.

"He's right there-" Brennan started to answer but her eyes turned big as she found the spot empty. In fact, the whole room was empty but for the two of them. The partners looked at one another, their expressions saying 'uh-oh'.

"Give me your cell phone. I'm calling Cullen to request back-up."

Booth smiled and felt proud that she had managed to keep her calm. _That's my girl._

* * *

As they were making their way out of the building as fast as they were able to, Booth tried not to let show how much his back was throbbing. He understood he had lost when Bones threw him a concerned glance.

"Give me your keys Booth," she said in a half-bossy, half-anxious tone.

"What?" he asked, without slowing his pace in spite of the pain.

"Give me the keys of the car," she repeated, holding out her hand to him. "I'm driving."

"No. No way. Look at you, you can barely walk."

"You've been hit in the back with a pipe; your back may have been seriously injured."

He chuckled. "I can walk, my back is fine."

"We can't be sure of that, so give me the damn keys," she insisted, following him to the driver's door.

Neither of them would admit to their weakness; that's why, despite exhaustion and aching, each was doing their best to stand as straight as possible, their voice and pace as steady and confident as possible.

"Look, Bones, we don't exactly have time to argue now," he said, opening the door of the SUV. "You've been held in here for two weeks, you're dehydrated, undernourished, exhausted and suffering pain. You can't focus on the road and I'm not dying because of your stubbornness."

Her arms folded, she watched him trying to climb into the SUV, groaning as he bent his back. "Booth, I can drive."

"I don't want you to pass out while you're behind the wheel, so help me get seated in this damn car and hurry up to climb in yourself."

Sighing in annoyance, she did as she was told. Though actually, she felt pretty relieved. She wasn't really a hundred per cent sure that she had been able to drive but her pride and mental strength –with which her physical strength never seemed to be able to keep up- prevented her from admitting it, even to herself. Booth turned the keys in the ignition and started the car, waiting for her. Her legs were shaking as she ran around the SUV, her hand trembling as she opened the door and she couldn't suppress a moan of pain as she contorted herself to sit in the passenger seat. All of this moving freely and the adrenaline rush ate her energy a million joules per second.

"Where are you going?" she inquired once they'd reached the road.

"I'm driving you to the hospital."

"I think we'd better meet the team somewhere, they may need us."

"And I think that the best we can do is heading for the hospital," he uttered firmly.

"I shouldn't have let you drive," she mumbled, turning her gaze to the window on her right with a pout.

"Bones, please, don't start again…"

She sighed in annoyance.

"Bones…" his tone had changed.

"What?" she asked abruptly, moving her gaze to him. At the sight of him, her expression turned from irritation into worry.

"What?" she repeated, her voice low and she held her breath in anticipation to his answer.

"Why can't I feel my legs anymore?"


	2. Hand in Hand

_**A/N: How can we thank you for the kind reviews we received? Well, by updating quickly, we guess. Special thanks to our first reviewer, RedRoses18, who made us grin with pride, and a huge hug to everyone who took time to leave us a little word, it was greatly appreciated. By the way, Ice Cube1, we did take your comment into consideration, for some next chapters. So guys, please feel free to tell us what you'd like to see if something comes to your mind, and we'll do it if we are able to, if it fits the story and of course if it brings something to the story.**_

_**And now hold your breath because we offer you some more angst in this chapter!**_

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**Chapter 2 – Hand in hand**

She looked at him with an alarmed expression.

"Tell me you're not joking."

"I'm not! Seriously, Bones, I can't feel my legs," Booth replied, slightly starting to panic.

"Okay," Brennan nodded her head and despite her fatigue thought hard. The solution came to her easily.

"Keep the car straight," she told him and he obeyed with a shaky sigh as he gripped the wheel tighter. The sensation of nothingness below his waist scared him. He realised he preferred pain over paralysis. By far.

"It must have been the blow," Brennan started her lecture as she unbuckled her seatbelt and shifted closer to her partner, leaning her arm on his upper leg as she bent forward and lowered her other arm to push his feet off the pedals. "I think you have a swelling that's pressing on your nerves."

A short intake of breath reminded her of her bruised ribs. Fortunately Booth hadn't heard it, for he would get all alpha-male on her and wouldn't allow her to move another inch. So she clenched her teeth and continued what she was doing without uttering a word or a moan of pain.

"Uhm, Bones. Maybe you could, you know, hurry up a little down there. I don't want to get pulled over for ehm… hazardous driving, if you know what I mean," he suggested as he glanced down at the woman lying in his lap. God, he did _not_ want to know what this would have looked like to other people.

"You know," Brennan started irritably as she pushed herself up, "I don't think that's what you need to worry about now. Besides, we could explain that you can't feel your legs so I had to take over the driving."

"What do you mean 'take over the driving'?"

A small, reassuring smile spread across her chapped lips and he thought she looked like hell; no offence. Yet her natural beauty—was it true then, that this came from within?—was still evident.

"Don't worry, Booth. You'll be okay," she told him softly and placed her hand on his arm soothingly for an instant before she stood up, pressing her hands against the driver's window for support and shifting her weight onto her partner's lap.

For a moment he didn't know what to say or do. Had she just told him not to worry? Had she just assured him he'd be fine? He could do nothing but admire this woman's mental strength. If anyone needed reassuring it was her. Kept hostage and abused for two weeks, barely able to support her own weight when the adrenaline had worn off; in this crisis-situation she still had all the answers.

So he said nothing, but helped her onto his lap. However, as soon as his hands applied pressure to her waist, she gasped and jerked away. It lasted merely a second, then she pulled herself together and settled in his lap, gripping the steering wheel with both hands and squeezing it until her knuckles turned white. The pain subsided quickly.

"Bones, what—"

"Bruised ribs," she cut him, murmuring an explanation.

"I'm sorry," he said softly and wanted to put his hands on her shoulders in a soothing manner, but rejected the urge. After all, he hadn't been able to tell from the photographs that the bastard had bruised her ribs, and he wondered what else the pictures hadn't shown.

_Bastard. BASTARD._

"I think I can pull up over there," her voice interrupted his building rage and he tried to look past her. He saw an empty area beside the road that looked like it would suffice.

She smoothly turned the car onto the sand and halted it, a sigh of relief escaping her before she turned off the ignition and opened the door. Once outside, she nearly fell to the ground for her knees buckled under her weight. Luckily, she was able to grab the passenger door just in time.

"Bones!" Booth exclaimed and reached out a hand to catch her, but she shook her head wearily.

"I can't drive anymore. I'm sorry. My head… do you- have any water in the car?" she asked as she pressed her hand to her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out her pounding headache. She'd been okay when she was tied in the room, but now after all this moving and stressing she recognised the symptoms of five per cent fluid loss.

"There are a few bottles in the back. I'd get them out for you-"

"It's okay, Booth. And- and salt? Sodium, potassium?"

"No, I'm sorry."

"Salty foods?" she asked hopeful as her heart beating inside her chest hurt and she was cold although her body temperature had increased.

He couldn't bear to say 'no' or 'I'm sorry' to her again so he merely sadly shook his head.

"I can't drink too much without electrolytes. But- I guess a- a sip wouldn't- hurt." Using all of her energy to stay on her feet, she leaned against the car for support as she slowly walked towards the back, where she retrieved a bottle of water from the trunk and sank to the ground, wanting to empty the bottle in a few gulps but realising she might kill herself by what is called water intoxication. It took a lot of will power to only take a few sips from the clear liquid that had never tasted as good as it did then and it relieved her dry mouth and throat a little.

"Bones?" Booth called from inside the car. Gathering her strength, Brennan got to her feet and walked back to the door.

"We have to get you to the hospital, Booth."

"Just me? You look like you could use one yourself," he attempted at a joke –why, he didn't know. Perhaps it was simply his nature to do so.

"I'll get concerned about myself when I start vomiting or seizing. Give me your cell phone."

"You save your energy. I'll call."

There was silence for a moment during which they looked intently at each other, both trying to see if the other was still hiding something. Pain or other.

"I'll just be in the- you know," Brennan gestured towards the back seat.

"Wait," Booth interrupted her actions. "Come here for a second. I need to know you're really here."

She did as he asked, too weak to think or protest, and collapsed on the ground close to him, leaning the back of her head against his leg. Reassured, he called 911, doing his best to explain where the hell they were. When he disconnected the call, he turned his gaze back to Brennan and repressed the urge to put his hand on her head and stroke her hair.

"Bones—"

She slowly tilted her head to the left to look up at him.

"Just know that I'm proud of you, okay? We all are."

She had endured two weeks of abuse and hadn't shown weakness, yet these simple words seemed to resolve her façade and she felt like breaking down in sobs against his strong chest, to use it as a shield and have her moment of weakness when no one would be able to see it. No one but him, at any rate, because she needed him to comfort her. She'd suppressed the need to be comforted by anyone other than herself since the day her parents had disappeared, but the truth was she did like to be worried about, especially by her friends.

"There's nothing to be proud of, but thank you."

Her voice was so weak and full of tears that it broke his heart. When she closed her eyes, obviously too exhausted to fight and keep them open, he couldn't resist the urge any longer and placed his palm on her cheek to guide her head so that she could rest it against him. As the skin of his hand met the dry skin of her face, he realised that she was burning hot. He wondered how long it would take until the ambulance arrived. He knew enough about dehydration to understand that she needed medical attention quickly or would slip into unconsciousness soon. Muffling a moan of pain, he managed to bend down far enough to grab the bottle of water she was still holding in her hands. He wet his fingers with a few drops of water and gently moistened her forehead. He grew anxious when he noted she didn't react to his touch. Torn between a deep concern and the slightly disturbing feeling of brushing her face with his fingers, he repeated his gesture on her temples, her cheeks and her neck.

"Bones, you hear me?"

When she didn't answer, he softly shook her, causing her to whimper.

"Bones, stay with me."

She moaned and slightly moved her head, but kept her eyes closed.

"I need you to stay awake, okay?"

"I'm awake," she said in a faint, barely audible voice.

He wished he could do more for her. His back was throbbing, as if a thousand needles were stuck in his spine, but the pain was not what was bothering him. He didn't remember having ever been so powerless in his life, and frustration was undermining him. What if he wouldn't be able to walk anymore? What if he couldn't do his job anymore? What if he had to care about paperwork for the rest of his career? What if he couldn't work with Bones again? How would he be able to protect her?

He rubbed his face in a nervous gesture. And what the hell was the damn ambulance taking so long? Were they having tea or something?

He silently scolded himself for it wasn't the moment to get worked up. Bones needed him, and even if he couldn't do much, he would do as much as he could. He smoothly stroked her hair and noticed her heavy breathing.

"Bones, you should take another sip of water," he recommended quietly, opening the bottle of water and handing it to her. "Bones?"

When she replied with a moan that didn't seem to be a 'yes' or a 'no' but didn't move, he thought that the ambulance had better hurry up. He twisted his back as much as he could and steadied her head in order to carefully pour a trickle of liquid between her lips. She swallowed and coughed slightly, opening her eyes.

"How are your legs?" she asked in a low voice.

Man… She was barely conscious, her head had to hurt like hell and she was still worrying about _him_.

"The same," he replied truthfully, unwilling to lie to her.

"I'm sorry Booth. It's entirely my fault," she said in a hoarse voice.

"What? No, don't say that Bones; it's not true."

"I should have spotted him and warned you in time."

She found the strength to turn her head to him and look into his eyes.

"Bones, listen to me. I'm gonna be fine, okay? We're gonna be fine. The both of us. We're partners, remember? We'll get through this together. We always do."

He saw a mix of gratitude and doubt in her eyes, and he was surprised, yet thankful, to see her searching for his hand. He took her thin one and squeezed it in a soothing manner, before rubbing it softly with his thumb. How good it felt to have her back. How relieved he was to have found her alive. But he wasn't completely reassured, not yet. She was hurt and had gone through a traumatic experience. They'd have to deal with that. If he wanted his Bones back they'd have to deal with that.

She hadn't expected to need the feel of her hand in his. Yet it couldn't be ignored. If only he would hold her she'd feel safe; nobody could separate them. Normally she wouldn't have sought comfort in physical contact, or any sort of contact for that matter, but when he or Angela initiated it she found herself consoled, reassured. Having someone close, sharing her pain also took some weight off her shoulders. Ever since she'd become a foster child she seemed to have carried the weight of the world.

And as if to prove Booth was right, the siren of the ambulances was heard and soon paramedics rushed towards them. They quickly examined Brennan, who was still only half-conscious, and evacuated her quickly. As doctors bustled around him, inspecting his back, Booth never let his eyes off of her. He refused to answer any questions before being informed about his partner's condition and protested so much that he managed to piss off the paramedics, but obtained the piece of information he wanted: They had arrived in time and she most likely wouldn't suffer any permanent damage linked to her dehydration. Besides, they assured him that she hadn't suffered any fractures, meaning that she would probably recover within two or three days. Slightly reassured, Booth began to relax and, at last, let the doctors do their jobs, though not without fighting with them to be sure he and Bones would be brought to the same hospital, into the same room.

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_**A/N: Yeah, I know what you think. We damaged Booth. But hey, it's always Brennan who's injured, we thought we'd bring little change. And don't worry, because we promise you some fluff in next chapter. So, deal?**_

_**Anyway, have a wonderful New Year's Eve.**_

_**Catherine & Magali**_


	3. Nasty Patients

_**A/N: How can we thank you for the wonderful reviews you sent us? With a new, long chapter, maybe? What? You'd like some fluff? Yeah, I know we promised that earlier. Well, this chapter is angsty AND fluffy. Besides, someone –she knows who she is- will note that we took her advice into consideration, in this chapter particularly. Hoping she'll be satisfied with it! Also special thanks to mumrulz for her wonderful reviews. We love it when you tell us your favourite lines. Good reading! **_

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Chapter 3 – Nasty patients

"Sir, _please_!" the nurse exclaimed in despair. Before her was lying the most difficult patient she'd had that day; he was on his back, refusing to let her help him roll over onto his stomach.

"I told you: I'll be a good patient once I know that my partner is safe. I need to see her, okay? You tell me where she is and how she's doing; I let you do your job. I'll even try to co-operate. You don't, I make life impossible for you. When will I be able to see her?" he stubbornly repeated what he had been asking since they had arrived at the hospital.

The nurse sighed and turned her gaze to the ceiling, as if hoping to find a solution there.

"Look, you don't know what she's just been through. She's my _partner_, all right? Do you know what that means? We're _partners_."

That was the last drop and the nurse murmured something in an angry tone before stalking away from her nasty patient.

* * *

Darkness, all was dark. Sometimes, the sound of little rat-feet tapping the concrete floor or simply a draught cut the silence like a knife, and her heart nearly jumped out of her chest. Not because rats scared her or she imagined the draught to be a phantom, but because they hit her senses like an explosion. She tended to pick up on every little sound, was able to see the dimmest of lights but could feel almost nothing.

"Hello?" she called into the darkness that hung around her like thick mist, and cringed at the sound of her own voice. Her mind told her to stop screaming, that it's of no use, but her body wouldn't surrender and try to save some energy. She didn't know since when she couldn't even control her own body anymore, but guessed it was a natural reaction to scream for help, to try anything at any cost, when you found yourself a madman's captive and you knew bad things were bound to happen.

Then, footsteps. The vibrations of their sounds spread through the building like explosions and once again her heart hammered in her chest. Her senses were confused and she squinted as the door opened and a beam of light settled upon her form, sitting against the cold wall in the dark. The light burnt her eyes so she turned her head away and squeezed her eyes shut, shutting out the painful beam of fierceness that assaulted her vision.

More explosions as he approached her, the hotness of his breath upon her ear as he hissed, "I suggest you keep your mouth shut from now on. I gave you a warning yesterday and just because you're pretty doesn't mean I won't rough up your face a bit."

"Can I have some water?" she whispered after a few seconds in which he sighed in her neck and nuzzled it with his nose, causing her to move away. His hand came out of nowhere and slapped her hard across the face.

"Bitch, don't for a second think you're in the position to ask for things. And don't turn away from me when I touch you; it might cost you your life. Now that would upset good Agent Booth, wouldn't it? They're all searching frantically for you, you know. And that artist, your best friend, am I right? She's been crying a lot since you went missing…"

The smell of his hand was still on her cheek and upon his words tears sprang to her eyes. The people who mattered most to her were hurting, and it was because of her. She should never have let them care about her. Now she realised there was more than one advantage of keeping people at arm's length. Indeed, they wouldn't be able to leave their mark on her heart when they would eventually leave or betray her, but neither would she be able to scar theirs. Even though her rational side told her this wasn't her fault, she was consumed by guilt.

She felt the light of his flashlight trained upon her face again and he smoothed some hair out of her face. Now she didn't dare turn away her head, not even when his hand travelled from her cheek down her throat to her collar bone, where it rested a moment before sliding down to the swell of her breast, where she felt his fingers probing her soft flesh while she did her best to dissociate herself from the situation…

"Hold this," he whispered and pushed something in her lap. Paper. A newspaper, judging from the sound of the creaking. Slowly, she opened her eyes and tried to get a glimpse of her captor. Unfortunately his face was covered. With what, she couldn't make out, for he'd noticed her looking and slapped her hard across the cheek, again. As she gasped in pain he quickly pulled something over her eyes and fastened it on the back of her head, bringing back the darkness to her. Finally his body removed itself from near hers and his footsteps weren't as loud to her ears anymore as he crossed the room and switched on a light, illuminating her surroundings though she couldn't distinguish anything because of the blindfold.

"Picture time, baby," he whispered, and she realised he knew what he was doing. Hiding his face, keeping her in the dark and not only locking up but restraining as well, whispering so she would never recognise his voice, taking pictures of her with what was probably that day's newspaper so he could prove she was still alive yet making it clear he was capable of hurting her, that he would show no compassion…

Quickly, she sat up straight and shook her head so her hair would fall over the spot where he'd hit her, trying to hide the mark he had certainly left as to not worry her friends even more.

"Nice try." Footsteps approaching again, then a hand grabbing her hair and jerking it from her cheek. "If I didn't know better I'd be starting to think that you actually enjoy this," he hissed and now his fist made contact with her cheek, setting her skin on fire and making it feel as though her very bone was throbbing. Why did men always have to hit a woman in the face, where it hurt most?

"Now sit still," he threatened and a few footsteps later she heard the click of a camera. "There, good girl."

She waited until he'd taken off the blindfold and left before bursting out in sobs, shaking with fear, and guilt, and cold. She was so cold… if only someone would wrap their arms around her… so cold… so alone…

"Miss? Are you awake? Can you hear me?"

The fog in her head slowly cleared as she came to and she blinked her eyes a few times before becoming aware of her surroundings. She moistened her chapped lips and squinted in the bright lights of the room.

"Where… Booth…" she said in a hoarse voice. Her throat and mouth were still dry and she shivered, then realised she was actually warm.

"Would you like some water?"

She shifted her gaze to the person to whom the voice belonged and she saw a man in a white coat standing beside her bed. He smiled reassuringly at her. Unable to force herself to speak again, she nodded her head. First she needed water, then the words wouldn't scrape the tender tissue of her throat anymore and she would be able to ask about Booth. She really needed to be with him now. She needed to know how he was doing. She longed for the sound of his voice and his comforting touch; she wanted to feel the warmth radiating off his body; she wished for him to make her feel safe. She wanted to be spoken to softly instead of being hissed at; wanted to be cared for instead of chained and treated like an animal. She wanted to feel like herself again, like a human being.

Sitting back in the pillows, she slowly lifted her arm to reach for the plastic cup which contained the clear liquid she craved more than anything at that moment. As she brought the cup to her lips, she noticed the extra weight on her hand. It was an IV. She drank and let the water soothe her dried-out tissue while the doctor explained her current situation.

"We're giving you fluids and essential nutrients intravenously; the body is provided with water much more quickly this way than through oral solutions." He paused as the patient didn't even seem to hear him, emptying the cup with closed eyes.

"Yeah, I know. I'm a doctor, too," she said weakly when she was finished. "And thank you," she added. "That was the best water I've ever drunk."

"You're welcome. The man they found you with told us your name is Temperance Brennan. Doctor Temperance Brennan, then. Is that correct?"

"Yes. Where is he? How is he doing?"

"We'll get to that later. First I need to ask you about something. Mi… Doctor Brennan, the paramedics noted the marks on your wrists and ankles, in addition to other severe bruising. I was hoping you could tell me how that happened," the doctor inquired with a serious voice.

"I need to know how my partner's doing," she ignored his prying gaze.

"Did he do this to you?"

She shot him a deadly glare.

"_Of course_ not. He'd never do something like that. He's my _partner_. He'd never hurt me deliberately."

"Maybe he hurt you accidentally," the doctor suggested, continuing his interrogation.

She swallowed.

"Can I have more water?"

He complied with her request without uttering a word and waited patiently until she'd emptied the cup before beginning again.

"You were abused. By whom? We can help you."

His sympathetic tone only caused her to frown angrily at him.

"I can't give you that information. It's classified. How's Booth? Is he in this hospital, too?"

"I'll take you to him if you tell me –honestly- if he is the one who hurt you."

"It wasn't him," she said as loudly and firmly as she could. "He's the best and nicest partner I could wish for. Will that suffice?"

"All right, miss Brennan-"

"_Doctor _Brennan," she corrected him pointedly.

"_Doctor _Brennan. Just press the button when this-" he pointed to the liquid dripping into the IV, "is empty and I'll have one of the nurses escort you to your partner."

Right at that moment, a nurse came into the room, curtly requesting the doctor to talk outside for a second. Brennan's eyes followed the liquid on its way into the needle in her hand and sighed. She needed to know how Booth was, damn it, and these drops were only prolonging their separation. Suddenly the room seemed so quiet and empty, the white walls and furniture turning their backs on her, and she felt desperately alone again, like she had in the past two weeks. She lay back in the pillows and closed her eyes, trying not to feel cold under the thick blankets as she felt the energy come back to her, slowly but steadily. Then she heard footsteps approaching and her eyes shot open. Annoyed with her own jumpiness, the second her eyes opened she realised that as she was in a hospital, the killer couldn't possibly be approaching her door. Though much time to think about this she didn't get, for the doctor emerged from the hall and walked back over to her bed.

"Looks like your partner is even less co-operative than you, doctor Brennan. Do you think you can get to your feet and sit in the wheelchair?"

Her eyes sparkled and she smiled relieved.

"Yes."

Three minutes later, Brennan's eyes finally met with the lying form of her partner, his upper body unclothed, his eyes closed and his forehead creased. He was obviously in pain. She waited a moment before lightly placing her hand on his and his eyes shot open immediately.

"Bones," he concluded relieved.

"Hi Booth," she replied with a smile. "You know, it's not very beneficial to your health if you keep giving the nurses trouble."

"I needed to know how you were."

"And I needed to know about you, too; but at least I drank water. You want to heal fast, don't you? And so do I, that's why you have to do as you're told. You're of no use to either one of us if you continue to refuse treatment."

"Yes, grandma," he attempted at a joke, obviously relieved to hear that she was feeling better enough to regain her bossy tone.

"Just do whatever they ask from you," she said with a concerned smile but a strict look.

"Will you stay?"

"I will. Promise." She would anyway, whether he asked her to or not. She had absolutely no desire to go back to her room. With him she felt protected, with him she forgot what she had gone through. He was the one who had taken her out of this; he was the one who saved her. Whether she needed to be saved or not.

He looked at the IV in her hand.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah. One down, one to go I guess."

At that, the nurse approached the bed again in a desperate attempt to get her patient to do what she wanted. This time, Booth didn't protest as she helped him roll over onto his stomach. She then paged the doctor and she emerged five minutes later. In those five minutes Brennan had inspected the bump on his back as precisely as possible. She was glad he couldn't see it for himself; it looked quite nasty. It pained her to know he was going through this mainly because of her. Booth confirmed he still couldn't feel anything in his legs and this worried Brennan intensely, but she tried not to let that on. He needed her to be strong and reassuring for him now.

The female doctor, an attractive African-American woman with delicate bone-structure introduced herself as Sarah James, and her accent gave away her British descent. She inspected the bump on Booth's back with her fingers, mentally marked the line from where he couldn't feel anything and then sighed, peeling off her gloves.

"You're going to order an MRI-scan, I assume," Brennan said.

Sarah James looked at her and arched her eyebrows.

"M.D.?"

"Ph.D."

The doctor smiled appreciatively.

"Me too. Both actually. And I'm afraid we do need that scan. But first I need to know how this happened."

Brennan had come to like the woman a lot more from the moment she had found that they were on the same level, academically speaking at least.

"He was hit in the back with what I presume was a lead pipe, using great force," she offered.

"Oh… all right," was all doctor James said, unwilling to get into her patient's business. "In that case I'm going to mark him as an emergency at the MRI-department."

Brennan tried to hide her worry with a small smile and enveloped Booth's hand in her own, squeezing it slightly to show her support. Yet, Booth seemed to read nothing but guilt in her eyes.

"Not your fault, Bones, okay?" he mumbled but all the colour was drained from his face upon the doctor's words and concerned tone.

Their hands were still entangled when the nurse came back, and when she took him away, they did not let go until the very last moment, when their fingers couldn't touch anymore.

* * *

Brennan was lying curled up on her bed, her eyes wide open, staring hazily at the window, lost in dark thoughts. She had gone back to her room reluctantly after Booth had been taken to the scan. Being a scientist and a doctor herself, she knew that patience was part of the job, and she was aware that it would take a certain amount of time before they would get the results. But at this moment, waiting felt quite simply unbearable.

When their gazes had met for the last time, she had seen this look in his eyes that had caused her stomach to contract. And since then, the lead weight in her belly had but increased.

What if Booth couldn't walk anymore? What if he couldn't do his job anymore? She knew how important catching murderers was to him, that he considered this his redemption after the lives he had taken in his past as a sniper.

What if… What if they could never work together again?

She let out a smothered cry when she suddenly felt arms wrapping around her, a damp cheek moistening hers.

"Oh sweetie, I've be so… I've been so… I thought we'd never…" Angela took a deep breath and managed to pull herself together. "I came as soon as I could. Oh my God, what has he done to you?"

Brennan sat up straight in the bed to face her friend. "He held me in a…" she began, before understanding that it had to be a rhetorical question. "I'm okay, Ange. I'm going to be okay."

She managed to stretch her lips in a reassuring smile. The tone of her voice, however, didn't reassure the artist who continued to inspect each part of her body.

"Where's Booth? I thought he would stay with you, but I don't see him anywhere."

There was a heavy silence before Brennan answered the question. "Booth has been hurt."

"What? I can't believe it; nobody told us! What happened? Is it serious?"

Brennan lowered her gaze, trying to hide the tears that were filling her eyes. "We don't know yet. He's having a scan."

"What happened?" Angela repeated with apprehension in her voice.

"He was struck. In the back. It's my fault, I should… I should have warned him in time," she answered, raising her gaze and shaking her head.

"Brennan, listen. I don't know exactly what happened there, but I'm sure that nothing of it is your fault. You've been held in some hellhole for almost two weeks during which you were beaten and you barely ate or drank; how the hell can you blame yourself?"

"Miss Brennan?" a voice said behind them.

"It's 'Doctor'," she mumbled, turning her head to face the nurse.

"Excuse me, Doctor Brennan, Doctor James told me to inform you that your partner is back in his room."

The annoyed tone immediately fell from her voice. "Thank you."

"Look, sweetie, I think I'd better go now. I promised the others that I'd come back quickly and give them some news about you… and Booth." She forced a smile. "And you know what? He needs you by his side."

Angela placed a soft kiss on her friend's forehead. "I'll come back if you need me." As Angela walked out, she whispered something in her ear.

Brennan saw her smiling to the nurse before she left. The woman moved the wheelchair to the bed, a kind look stretched across her face, but her patient shook her head as she got to her feet.

"I can walk."

The nurse said nothing, for she knew it was useless, and led her to Booth's room. As they were walking down the corridor, Brennan quickly regretted having refused the wheelchair. Her legs were still shaking and her head spun slightly, yet she would never have shown it, even less would she allow herself to accept the nurse's arm for support.

But when she reached Booth's room, after a trip that had seemed to last hours, she all but let herself collapse onto the bed.

"When will we have the results of the scan?"

"The doctor said that it might take several hours."

There was just enough space for her to lie beside him.

"I'll wait with you," she said, resting her cheek on the pillow next to his.

They exchanged looks before she closed her eyes, obviously exhausted. And soon, he heard her breathing steady, her features showing a peaceful, almost fragile look that he rarely had the occasion to observe on her. He noticed that her hair had been washed and untangled, for it had regained its usual shiny auburn colour. He gently moved his hand to her and brushed his fingers against her silky hair.

"What are you people doing?" a masculine voice said in an offended tone.

Brennan woke up with a start to the sound of the loud voice and rubbed her eyes. "We're waiting for my partner's scan results," she retorted with a sleepy, yet firm voice.

"Mi… Doctor Brennan, it's time for your meds, so I'd appreciate it if you came back to your room."

"I'm not going anywhere," she said, turning her back to the man and shifting to her former position.

"Maybe I can settle this," she heard Doctor James' voice say.

Booth watched the doctors speaking in low voices in the corridor as Brennan snuggled up into a more comfortable position.

She sighed. "It's not fair, your doctor is nicer than mine," she complained playfully.

"Yeah, and far more attractive, too," he retorted teasingly.

Her eyes shot open, and the gaze she threw him caused him to immediately regret his words.

"I uh… That's not what I meant." _You stupid…_

She gave him a half-smile before closing her eyes again. "Shut up and let me sleep."

* * *

He took off the bandage, carefully. He had been obliged to extract the bullet himself. It wasn't the first time that he had got shot. But this time, he couldn't allow himself to go to the hospital. On the other side, he couldn't allow himself to limp either. His job was far from finished. His boss wouldn't be happy. He'd be really upset. He dreaded this conversation, and that's why he waited for the very last moment to initiate it.

The bandage was saturated with dried blood. The wound wasn't a pretty sight. Yet, he had taken every necessary precaution: disinfected instruments, sterile gauze. He winced when he cleaned the injury. God, it hurt like hell. He'd make her pay for this. Despite the enquiries he had made about her which had told him that it would be everything but easy, he had underestimated her.

He wrapped a clean bandage around his leg and taped it securely. She won the second round, but the game wasn't over. No, his job wasn't finished. It had barely begun.

* * *

_**A/N: Was that enough fluff? Of course, it's never fluffy enough, is it? We promise you a funnier AND fluffier chapter 4. And we promise you that it will be available next Sunday. Yeah, we know it's quite a long time to wait, but the holidays are over and we want to be sure we'll be able to update regularly even if we are forced to stop writing for a while... See you soon, and please keep telling us what you think about our story!**_

_**Catherine & Magali**_

* * *


	4. Beating hearts

_**A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews, they really warm our hearts. We promised you a fluffy chapter 4; here it is! With some funny –and less funny- parts. We did our best to do research on the medical stuff, and we're sorry if something isn't right. But guess what? One of our readers has got a degree in sports medicine – hooray for IceCube – and if she sees anything that doesn't make sense, she'll tell us and we'll do our best to correct it (like we're planning to correct chapter 3 with her help).**_

_**Good reading!**_

* * *

**Chapter 4 – Beating hearts**

"Give me the control."

"What?"

"Give me the remote control," she repeated, stretching her left arm to reach for it.

Booth chuckled. "No way. My room, my TV, my remote control."

"It's not your room anymore, it's our room now," she retorted.

"Not exactly. This is _my_ room, and you're my guest," he explained.

"You didn't protest when they offered us to add another bed," she said with a pout.

"I thought you wanted to sleep."

"Not anymore." She sighed. "This show is crap, I mean, it's degrading."

"Stop complaining, Bones, play with me."

"Italy's shape is said to resemble which object? A five-year-old would know that." She crossed her arms in front of her chest and Booth glanced bemusedly at her.

"Be patient, it's only the 100 question!" He so wasn't going to tell her how adorable she looked with the blanket over her chest, her arms crossed and strings of hair loosely framing her face. She looked like a bored dark-haired angel. Except for the black eye, that is, although its colour had changed to a yellow-greenish shade now. She looked almost serene surrounded by all this whiteness, complementing her fair skin. God, he was glad to have her back.

Brennan let out another annoyed sigh as the host asked the already sweating candidate the second question. _'What call is customarily given before a fencing match begins? Encore? En garde? En masse? On line?'_

"En garde!" Booth let out with a proud grin on his face.

"_En garde,_" Brennan repeated, correcting his French pronunciation.

"Never mind. Yeah! 200."

"It's not like you actually won the money," Brennan pointed out.

"I'm going to give them your name, I bet you'll win the one million dollar," he said with glowing eyes, as if it was the best idea he had never had.

"I don't need that money; besides, I hate being on television."

Booth laughed slightly. "Yeah I remember the first time you were interviewed."

She threw him a deadly glare. "You said I did well for a beginner!"

Booth snorted, adding to his partner's growing annoyance with him. "I know," he laughed.

"_You_, Special Agent Seeley Booth, are an insufferable man sometimes," she told him with disdain. To her surprise, he only started to laugh harder.

"I can't _believe _you," she called to him and desperately held her arms in the air before letting them fall to her sides with a muffled thud.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Booth laughed, pressing a hand against his mouth to try and stop his laughter, but all to no avail.

"Are you having an episode of some sort? Because I could call the nurse and ask her to bring you a sedative." Despite her obvious frustration with him Booth continued to laugh. He just couldn't stop himself.

"Don't be so damn funny!" he cried out and started to shake half out of the bed, causing Brennan to finally not put up with his behaviour anymore and throw back the covers furiously. She planted her feet firmly on the cold floor and got dizzy immediately, but she was so fed up with Booth and his ridiculously inappropriate laughter that she ignored her head and threateningly stalked towards his bed.

When she'd reached him she grabbed his ear in a rough manner. Finally his laughter died out.

"Ouch, Bones," he whined indignantly.

"Will you please stop now or at least tell me why you find any of this so amusing?" They stared in each other's eyes for a moment. "I need you to talk to me, Booth! Please!"

Was she begging him?

He slowly brought his hand up to hers and freed his ear from her fingers, then lowered it to his chest, to his heart so she could feel it beating.

"I'm really sorry, Bones. I didn't mean to upset you."

"Can I have my hand back?"

"Look," he said, ignoring her request, "In this situation I can either cry my eyes out and smash things or laugh uncontrollably. I know what you've just been through, and I understand how inappropriate I acted. But you don't have to worry, okay? My heart is beating, and so is yours. Right now that's all that matters."

Finally he let go of her hand and she thoughtfully placed it against her heart, where she indeed felt a steady beat.

"It's all been a little overwhelming, I agree," she admitted and smiled slightly.

"You're a tough nut, Bones."

"I'm not a nut."

"It's an expression."

"Oh." She lowered her hand and hesitated. She needed to lie down but she didn't feel like being in a bed alone. Being alone had meant uncertainty and fear for the past two weeks. She was tense even though Booth was in the room with her. What if he went to sleep? It was hard to let her guard down. As long as this creepy serial killer was on the run she couldn't truly be relieved.

"You want to bunk with me?" Booth proposed, noticing her hesitation and guessing what was the matter.

"What?"

In reply he patted beside him.

"If you want," he added innocently.

"Yeah. All right," she said and sat beside him. "I'm fine with watching this show by the way."

"Well it's not like you have a choice," he teased. "I have the remote control."

She rolled her eyes and leaned back in the pillows.

"Child," she sighed. Booth pretended not to have heard her.

A smile came to her lips without her really inviting it. And she sighed again, in relief and well-being this time. She rested her head on his shoulder. No more worries for tonight. He was right; their hearts were both still beating. And they were together. Together, they were solid. For now, it was all that mattered.

* * *

_He always wore a hood. He always spoke in a very low voice on purpose, clearly trying to disguise the quality of it. Either he was afraid that she would be able to just break her ties and flee, or he really intended to let her go once he had obtained what he wanted. In the beginning, it had occurred to her that he could be someone she knew. In the beginning, she had stared into his eyes. She had listened carefully to his voice, looking for the very hint that would betray who he could possibly be. But now, she was too tired, too broken, too weak. At first, the hard, cold ground and her sore body had prevented her from finding any sleep. But quickly, she understood that she had to save her strength; that these moments of light, short sleep were the only moments of escaping she would get._

_She muffled a cry and opened her eyes when she suddenly felt an acute pain in her ribs. Without moving, she turned her gaze up to him. He often did that—waking her with some kicks._

"_Get up," he ordered simply._

_In the beginning, she had wondered if he would have been as confident without this hood over his face. In the beginning, she had resisted. Now, she merely did as he told her, for she knew that defying him would only gain herself more sorrow. She had given up on her dignity._

_She placed her hands, palm flattened against the floor, to lean on her arms. She winced in pain while trying to sit up. She knew he was waiting, watching her. She knew that under his hood was a satisfied smirk._

_He had to be tired of waiting for her for she had just managed to sit on her knees when he gave her another kick. A hard one, in the stomach, this time. _

"_I told you to get up!" Either he whispered or he squealed—it was all or nothing._

_She let out a moan and pressed her hands to her belly, as though it would help lessen the pain. Tears shot to her now closed eyes and a sob got caught in her throat. She would have cried if she had been able to, but she could barely breathe._

When she opened her eyes, she realised that the floor wasn't so hard; that she didn't feel that cold, for once; that she felt pretty warm, actually. She noted that the silence wasn't terrifying and complete, as it usually was; that somebody was breathing steadily and peacefully close to her; that she could feel his arms around her; that they kept her safe.

So she shut her eyelids, for now she could sleep without dreading the moment she would wake up again.

* * *

"When Doctor James asked me to add a bed to this room, I'm pretty sure she thought that somebody was going to use it!" the nurse groaned impatiently.

Brennan moaned and blinked her eyes several times, looking hazily in direction of the voice. Booth had woken up with a start, too, and felt embarrassed. They had been watching television, teasing and laughing in a desperate attempt to chase the former traumatic events out of their minds. And they had ended up falling asleep in Booth's bed, both of them grateful to find comfort in the other's arms.

"Uhm, well, we didn't intend to..."

"Didn't intend to do what? If you want a king sized bed, just tell me and I'll see what I can do," retorted the woman, hands on her hips.

"No, thanks, it's okay, we just..."

"Bones... There are no king sized beds in a hospital..."

Brennan understood that now was the moment she had to shut her mouth.

"Anyway," the impatient nurse said in a firm voice, looking at them as if she was scolding two boisterous kids. "Doctor James will return within a few minutes with Mister Booth's results." She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "That's why you, young lady, had better regain your bed," she added, throwing Brennan a deadly glare before stepping out of the room.

Booth chuckled when he decided that the woman could no longer hear them. "_Young lady_? Where are we, at a boarding school?"

Brennan smiled, but then a thought crossed her mind which made her laughter die out. Booth noticed it and looked at her worryingly.

"Hey... Bones... You all right?"

"Yeah, it's just... You know, she... She's coming with your results..." she said in a small voice.

She avoided his gaze, lowering her eyes. He could feel her heart pounding faster against his own chest and gently rubbed her arm comfortingly with his thumb. "Hey, Bones, look at me."

"I'd better get back into my own bed." Neither of them noticed how much they were acting like teenagers who had just got busted by their parents and were now sent back home and grounded.

She made an attempt to escape his grip but he held her back, squeezing her arm slightly. "Look at me."

She rested her head back in the pillow. When their eyes met again, he realised that their noses were almost touching; and for an instant, he wondered what would happen if he crossed the space between them and pressed his lips against hers.

"It's going to be just fine, Bones," he whispered, as reassuringly as he was able to. "We're together, right? You're here with me... I couldn't ask for anything better..."

He knew that he had spoken too much. He had not been able to hold these words back. And when she closed her eyes, he was not able to prevent his heartbeat from speeding up.

"Good morning," a soft and pleasant voice said.

Both partners startled and Brennan abruptly sat straight up in the bed. "Doctor James..." she greeted, feeling pretty uncomfortable, before sheepishly regaining her bed.

The woman gave them both a warm but slightly amused smile, yet she knew what was expected from her, and as two anxious pairs of eyes were fixed on her, her expression became more serious and professional.

"Agent Booth, you are aware that I'm here to talk to you about the results of the exams you underwent yesterday. I've got good news, and bad."

She paused and observed their reactions, but didn't wait too long to continue, for she was perfectly aware that they were both holding their breath.

"The bad news, is that there is nothing we can do for now." She lifted her hand which was holding a sheet and held it against the light so Booth had a clear view of his spine. He studied his bones for a moment, then decided there wasn't really anything that stood out to him, so he glanced over at his partner, whose eyes were widened a bit and fixed on him. So obviously she _had_ seen something. He tried to extract something from her gaze, information, good or bad, but got nothing. Therefore he turned to Doctor James.

"I'm going to need some subtitles," he gave her his charm smile to look confident, although inside he was growing more nervous with each second that passed.

"All right, Agent Booth. What you're looking at right here, is a picture the scan made of your lumbar vertebrae. This is where your nerves are," she pointed out with her index finger, "and these are fluids. It's the swelling on your back. Now these nerves right here are swollen, which is why you're paralysed. The swelling can cause changes in virtually every system in the body. I'm afraid there's nothing we can do about that. Unfortunately only a very small fraction of people sustaining SCI recover all functioning."

"SCI?"

"Spinal Cord Injury," Brennan quickly provided, like a geek student in class calling out the right answer before granting anyone else the chance to.

"I hope that was the bad news, then," Booth sighed and glanced at Brennan once more, to find her gaze fixed on Doctor James, taking in every word that left her lips with interest. _Yep, that's my Bones right there. Always trying to learn. She never got a B, and she never will._

"That and something else," Doctor James continued and Booth's jaw clenched. _What more?_ "You may experience no control over your bowel or bladder."

"Oh, that's just great," Booth exclaimed desperately and dropped his head back in the pillows. "Pissing through a tube…" Both Brennan and Doctor James decided to forgive him this language.

"What's the good news?" Brennan asked quickly, eagerly, and stole a glance at her partner, lying back in the pillows, shaking his head disbelievingly. Why did she still feel guilty about all of this?

"Yes, I was just getting to that. The good news, however, is that after days or weeks, the swelling will begin to go down. Moreover, I'll give you methylprednisolone, a steroid drug that reduces swelling. Furthermore, while I examined you it appeared that you had some sensation in your left foot. This means you have incomplete injury."

"It feels pretty complete though," Booth mumbled sarcastically.

Doctor James understood this man's attitude. She'd seen men break down and cry at this news, others become angry, and some didn't react at all but were diagnosed with heavy depressions later. One patient had even laughed because, as he later explained, it was either laughing or committing suicide at that moment.

"It means that you have better chances of recovery. For the moment, all you need is some rest. And you're going to be paralysed for a while. I can't tell you for how long. The good news is that it won't be permanent," she emphasised.

"Okay. And what about… you know," Booth all but whispered in hopes of his partner not being able to hear from the other side of the room. Doctor James took a step closer; she hadn't heard him correctly.

"I beg your pardon?"

Booth's eyes briefly shifted to his partner, found her looking straight at him and grew a little more embarrassed.

"Will everything be okay? I mean, _everything_. Every _thing_." He really wasn't going to be more specific with his partner in the room.

"Oh," Doctor James finally understood. "If you rest well and the swelling will go down accordingly, your sexual functions should be okay, although they might be disrupted after all. Time will tell."

"Okay, thanks Doctor," Booth nodded his head and glanced over at Brennan. "What are you looking at me for?"

"It's perfectly normal to be worried about the functioning of your sexual organs, Booth."

"Listen, I know that, _okay_?"

She shrugged in reply and turned to Doctor James.

"Is that everything you can tell for now?"

"Well, almost. The last good news is that if Agent Booth has got someone who can take care of him, he is allowed to go back home tomorrow. So are you, Doctor Brennan."

She gazed ahead thoughtfully for a moment. Going home. Alone. Leaving Booth at the hospital. _Not going to happen._

"I'll take care of him," she blurted out. Booth's head shot up and turned in her direction. "For as long as he needs it," Brennan added calmly.

"Bones, you don't have to-"

"Oh but you don't have to decide yet. How about I'll leave you two to discuss it and come back later?" Doctor James offered. "There is so much more I should tell you about paraplegia, but I will get to that later. If you have any questions please make sure to write them down so you won't forget."

With that and a slight nod to the both of them, Doctor James buried her hands in the pockets of her white coat and left the room with a quick pace, off to her next patient.

It was quiet in the room for a moment and Brennan heard the rhythm of Booth's breathing had changed. She knew he was scared to death. He could lose his independence forever. He could lose his job, his hobbies, his time alone with Parker… he could lose his life.

"You're an L4. That's good you know. Considering, I mean," she broke the silence and Booth met her guilty gaze. He didn't ask what 'an L4' was because he knew it was one of the vertebrae in the lower back. Oh yes, he did pay attention to her ramblings sometimes and the word 'vertebrae', like 'cranium' and 'occipital bone', was like her mantra when she spoke about remains.

"Bones," he spoke in a low voice, "I am serious about this, okay? This is _not _your fault and you don't owe me anything. You should _not_ feel obliged to do anything for me. Well except bringing me a fruit basket and keeping me posted on what's going on at the lab but other than that-"

"Stop!" she cut him. "Booth, I really want to do this, but only if it's okay with you. I… I don't want to be alone now anyway and you… you need help, Booth. And it would be the logical thing to do because we're partners. You saved my life. Again. This is the least I can do or I'll feel like I owe you for the rest of my life. Please just let me restore the balance."

Another moment of silence in which they battled with their eyes. _You don't have to do this. I want to do it. You shouldn't feel obliged. I mean it. I can't ask this from you. And I'm going to do it. I'm not your burden to bear. My mind is set. That means I can do nothing but comply. Good thinking. Thank you._

A small smile spread across their lips.

"All right then. But I have to warn you: My mom used to tell me I was a real pain in the butt when I was sick and she had to take care of me."

"I can handle you."

"Until now, yeah."

"You'll have to put up with me as well, you know."

"Ah," he said dismissively, "I can handle you."

"Until now."

"Don't repeat other people's jokes Bones, it's not funny."

"I think it is," she shrugged.

"Anyway, let's just see how it goes then."

"Okay."

"Bones?"

"Yes?"

"Can I get one more hug?" he pleaded with puppy eyes.

"You really need one now, I suppose," she agreed and climbed out of her bed again, not feeling so dizzy this time and getting more and more successful at ignoring the nagging pain of her ribs.

Booth's smile grew wider as she approached him, her long athletic legs and bare feet carrying her to his bed and pushing her upwards so she could hop onto it and open her arms to him.

"Come here, then." He obeyed and wrapped his arms around her waist, careful not to hurt her ribs, making a mental note to feed her until she can't eat anymore without getting sick and rested his head against her soft chest, picking up on the sound of her heartbeat. She held him to her and wrapped one arm around his back, stroking it in a soothing manner.

"I'm still really sorry, Booth. For all of this."

"Me, too. But you know, it's in the past now and what we're going to do next is getting our lives back to normal, right?"

"Agreed," she answered and held him a little tighter, for she could hardly believe she had survived the past two weeks. She could hardly believe she wasn't hungry or thirsty or cold or in pain or afraid anymore.

Both of them wondered why all the sudden they needed to be so close the entire time. Perhaps because Brennan felt safe with him, after all he was the one who rescued her, and because Booth just wanted her back, his dearest friend, his partner.

And as for the position they now found themselves in, they decided on a variation on a very popular line:

What happens in this hospital room stays in this hospital room.

* * *

_**A/N: Thanks for reading! Please tell us what you think about this chapter, it'll make our day!**_


	5. In the same boat

_**A/N: It's only chapter five and we are happy to notice that we already have faithful readers! Thank you all for your fabulous reviews, you're wonderful. We hope you'll like this chapter, which contains a lot of things, again: Angst, friendship, fluff, with some funny parts. Good reading!**_

* * *

**Chapter 5 – In the same boat**

Doctor James came back, convinced that Brennan hadn't changed her mind. Actually, she was touched and moved to observe how devoted to each other the two partners were. When she was used to seeing patients wallowing in self-pity, surrendering to their disease, when she observed every day parents tearing each other to pieces about the sickness of their child, brothers and sisters arguing about how to deal with the state of health of a father or mother, she knew that these two wouldn't give up. They were solid, they would hold.

That's why she didn't even bother stepping into the room.

"Doctor Brennan? Can I talk to you for a moment?"

"What?" Booth said, surprised and annoyed to be left out of the conversation. "Hey!"

Brennan threw him an exasperated glare. "Booth, don't be a child…" she said, sighing. "The world doesn't revolve around you solely," she added before leaving the room, under the amused eye of Doctor James who couldn't help a smile.

"I presume you did not change your mind about taking care of your partner?" Doctor James began.

"No, indeed. I did not change my mind."

"What does he think about it?"

"We talked about it, he's okay with this."

The doctor smiled.

"He's lucky to have you." As Brennan opened her mouth to protest, she added, "As a partner and friend."

"I'm grateful to have him, too."

"I have to warn you, though. This will not be as easy as you may think. It will be exhausting. For the both of you. And it's likely that he quickly becomes bitter and depressed. That's why I highly recommend you to…"

"… be helped by a nurse, yeah, I've already thought about it."

"You're aware of the fact that Mister Booth's insurance does not cover extra care, aren't you?"

"Yes, I know about this. It's not a problem."

Doctor James opened her arms, her lips curving in a smile of satisfaction.

"I think we can go back to the room, then. I have a lot to say to you two."

* * *

Brennan fidgeted in her bed. Last night, she had found the pillows fluffy and comfortable, and she had thought that she had never lied on such a smooth mattress. But this night, the pillows seemed flat and rough, and the bed, hard against her back. However, this was not the main reason why she couldn't find any sleep. To tell the truth, her partner's peaceful and steady breathing wasn't enough to chase away all the disturbing thoughts she couldn't keep from crossing her mind.

Somehow, they were both in the same boat. She'd never forsake him. Not after all they had been through. She had made promises that she would make sure she'd hold. She'd help him heal, he'd help her feel safe. She'd bear him, he'd handle her. They had been alone with this until now, they wouldn't tell anyone. Anyone, except Rebecca and Cullen, because they had no other choice.

She turned to lie on her back and fixed her gaze on the ceiling, her eyes wide open. This was going to be a long, long night.

* * *

For the hundredth time this night, he turned, trying to find a comfortable position which he knew he wouldn't. His wound still hurt like hell. He had rather go to the hospital, after all. Concoct a story, and be healed correctly. Now, he couldn't avoid an ugly scar, and he knew that he might have a lame left leg for the rest of his life. Damnit.

The pain spread through his entire leg, making him want to scream. But mostly out of anger. He knew that, had she been there, he would still have found the strength to smash her pretty little face. Simply because he felt like it and she was to blame for all of his problems anyway. He let out a groan of frustration. He hadn't been careful enough. This little game had lasted too long. At some point, he had better find another hiding place. Or kill her.

He smiled at how thinking back about what he had done to her then could calm him down. He would make this right, and she'd be sorry for it. But first, he needed to heal. He needed rest.

* * *

The next morning, Booth awoke with a slight smile on his face. Even though yes, his legs were paralysed and yes, he couldn't actually see the sun, he somehow knew it was shining. If not outside, inside his heart. The exact reason for his sunny mood he couldn't pinpoint, yet he realised it had to have something to do with the fact that the tension and nerves and feelings of guilt and hopelessness, uselessness, were finally starting to leave him alone. It might have to do with the fact he probably was going to heal sufficiently to start his job again. It might be the feeling of contentment, warmth and pleasant softness of the hospital bed. It might have something to do with the tall form of his partner in the bed opposite his, on the other side of the room.

He turned his head and gazed at her; her face was turned towards the wall and her hair fanned out over the pillow. His slight smile turned wider for he thought she was sleeping peacefully. Then his gaze wandered over her form under the sheets, he noticed the rising and falling of her chest. It wasn't until his eye fell upon her fingers clenching the sheets that he registered that the rising and falling of her chest wasn't at all peaceful. Erratic was more like it.

"Bones?" he called softly, worriedly. Then again when she didn't respond nor moved. "Bones!" He lifted up his head with the intention of letting his body follow suit. However, he was still paralysed and felt as though chained to his bed, which all the sudden didn't seem all that comfortable and _pleasant_ anymore. Damn these legs!

"Bones!"

She awoke with a start and shot up in her bed, glancing around frantically as if to search for the direction of approaching danger, then she slowly became aware of her surroundings. And Booth.

"What's wrong?" she asked, panting, her brow furrowed.

He shook his head wearily, taken aback by her strong reaction. "N-nothing, Bones, everything's fine. Just fine. We're fine. Don't worry."

His innocent eyes did nothing to smooth her forehead as she gazed disbelievingly at him, her mouth half opened as if she wanted to say something but the words didn't come to her.

"Why would you wake me?" she asked instead. There was something in her eyes; it wasn't hurt, more like sadness. Over the fact he had woken her? That he couldn't believe. It was easier to piss her off than to evoke sadness.

"I-" he started to say but she cut him immediately, not expecting a reply from him.

"No. Why would you do that, Booth? I haven't slept all night. In fact I had only just fallen asleep. How do you suppose I heal and rest if I can't sleep?"

"Bones, you were having a nightmare. That's why I called you."

"How can you know?" She didn't buy this from him.

"You were clutching the sheets in your fists and breathing very shallowly," he explained, getting irritated by her seemingly illogical behaviour. "And in case you forgot, you have been held and tortured by a _psycho_ for two entire weeks! Combine these _facts _and think of why it was quite obvious to me you were having a nightmare," he retorted.

"I was _not _having a nightmare, Booth! I would admit it if I were but I wasn't. Can't you just accept that?" Her constant use of his name was irritating him, as if she was admonishing him.

"All right. I believe you. I'll take your word for it. But what about the evidence here, Bones? You weren't dreaming of fluffy sheep dancing over grassy hills either, were you?"

She glared at him. "I never remember my dreams, Booth. Though surely I would remember a horrible nightmare, wouldn't I?" She was getting annoyed by his constant use of her nickname so she made sure to pronounce his name in each of her sentences. Pronounce it clearly. Emphasise it.

"That still doesn't explain the evidence. _Evidence_, Bones. The truth. What is the truth?" He knew he was being harsh on her, yet all he wanted to do was help, and this conversation had just turned out the way it had. As a fight. No, an argument. A discussion, perhaps.

"It was merely my body, Booth. It usually needs a little more time to adapt to a different situation than my mind." Her tone was less hard, less fiery, and Booth had the feeling they were finally getting somewhere.

"Then what is your body used to?" he asked, matching the tone of her voice. Mirroring another person's behaviour put them at ease most of the time.

She had noticed –of course- this trap. He wanted her to talk about her time with the killer, share her experiences, emotions, with him, so he could understand and try to make it all better. But she was not a child. Time would heal this wound as it had many others. She needed to be patient, that's all.

Sighing, she grabbed one of the two pillows from her bed and put it atop the other one, then rested her head down on them, lying on her side so she could maintain eye-contact with her partner.

"Booth, I know what you want, okay? I understand that's the kind of person you are… you talk about things. You share your emotions. But you have to understand that I'm not like that. I don't like raking up old and hurtful memories just for the sake of sharing them because I don't believe it would relieve the pain. Furthermore I don't feel bothered by them in everyday life so why would I put myself through reliving the most unpleasant moments of my life? What logic is in that, Booth? Tell me, convince me and I'll bare my soul. Until then you'll have to try and make peace with the past. I will, too."

The room was quiet for a while and Booth pondered her words.

"You're going to have to give your statement, you know that?" He couldn't find something else to say.

"Yes. I know," she replied in a steady, calm voice.

"So… you'd rather talk to my colleagues than me?"

"When I talk to strangers I can remain scientific and objective. You, however, are my partner. You're my friend. I know you too well and I guess… you know me too well. I'm not certain I'll be able to keep the details about my emotions or how- _things _felt to myself if you're being all comforting and understanding while I talk to you. Does that explain my decision sufficiently?"

His warm brown eyes were locked on her blue ones and he knew he could do nothing but accept her decision or he'd only make things worse.

"All right. If that's how you feel about it, I mean, if that's really what you want…" he started to grudgingly give in.

A small smile curved her lips. "It's what I think is best."

"Just- Bones, just one thing. Please tell me; what is the worst thing he's done to you?" He needed to know how 'fine' she was, exactly.

"Hm." She thought hard for a moment, averting her gaze to a spot beside him, then turning back to him. "Physically or mentally?"

"Both, if that's okay with you."

"As for physically I'd have to go with dehydrating me. That was awful. I mean, I was aware of exactly what was happening in my body, could feel every stage and knew what the next would include. I felt myself dying, almost."

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry about, Booth. You saved me."

Meeting her intense gaze, he asked, "And mentally?"

"He made me realise how frantically you were looking for me. That my friends were hurting because of me, that's… that was hard."

"You're not blaming yourself for having us worried now, are you, Bones? Because none of this is your fault. You have to understand that."

She nodded her head. "Of course I do. It wouldn't be rational for me to assume it is my fault I got kidnapped."

Sometimes he was grateful for her knack of rationalising everything. "That's right. But- he didn't… _touch_ you, did he?"

"Well of course he touched me. Torturing someone is pretty challenging if you're not going to touch them." She was missing his point.

"No, I meant, he didn't… assault you, did he?"

"You're such an alpha male. But no, he did not touch me that way. He would barely speak to me or come within my line of vision. He always stayed at a safe distance, I suppose. Except when he hit me of course."

Hearing her say it made Booth cringe. _God, Bones, I'm sorry._

She had noticed his change of expression though.

"Booth, I promise you I'm okay. I'll need a little bit of time but I'm fine. Everything's fine. Just fine. We're fine. Don't worry." She gave him a smile and used his own words to comfort him. When he smiled back, she stretched her arm toward him, although the distance which separated their beds didn't allow her to reach him.

"We're gonna be fine," he repeated, stretching his own arm and squeezing her hand without breaking eye contact with her.

Both in the same boat. She knew that she wouldn't be able to find sleep again, but it didn't matter. Morning had come, and they were together. A new day had come, and they would face it together. The sun had risen, and somehow she knew it was shining.

* * *

"Doctor Brennan, are you all right?"

She took another moment with her head in her hands so they wouldn't see her closed eyes. God, she was tired. She'd been talking to these people for three hours. And it wasn't your casual small-talk. The subject was draining her energy; recalling all the events of the past weeks since the day she got abducted was both painful and difficult. Put to the test, she wasn't sure her brain was working as effortlessly and fast as usual. And her brain working against her pissed her off.

"If you need to rest we can continue this at another moment."

She wanted to tell the voice to shut up and give her one more second, but decided against it. She lifted her forehead from her hands and put one elbow on the table, propping her jaw on her fist.

Opposite her still sat the two Agents who were taking her statement; the red-haired woman who asked most of the questions, and the black-haired man, who took notes but sometimes inquired about further details. They were nice yet professional enough, but Brennan felt like they were probing and prodding her memory, as though sticking their hands in her brains to pull out slivers of recollection they supposed she'd neglected to mention.

"No, go on. I'm fine," she groggily replied.

"Was there anything that stood out to you about this man?"

"I told you: No. I could barely see him."

"Tattoos? Jewelry? Piercings? Haircut? Clothes, maybe?" the female agent drummed up the list tirelessly, completely ignoring her interviewee's growing impatience. She was used to persisting.

Brennan sighed and sat up straight in her chair, forearms flat on the table and her hands touching. She cocked her head and some auburn curls fell over her shoulder, her eyes locking with the Agent's.

"I don't know if you're testing me for inconsistencies or something, but we've been over this four times and my answer will remain the same, I assure you. So please let's move on if there's anything else you need to know for your report."

Although she wouldn't but grudgingly admit to it, the recalling of horrific torture had left her feeling depressed. If she believed in psychology she would have a _lot_ to deal with.

"No, that was all. Thank you for your help, Doctor Brennan."

No, that was not all. The countless beatings, the endless insults; being scared asleep and kicked awake. The perpetual hunger, the unbearable thirst. The bathroom visits, which were so rare her stomach and intestines ached all day long. That was not all. But frankly, she just wanted to forget it all even happened.

"Should we call a nurse to escort you to your room?" the male agent offered.

Brennan had already pushed herself up from the table and wrapped the knee-length wrap top a little tighter around herself, noticing once again she barely had a waist left, yet knowing she would be refusing most food for another while. She didn't know why she didn't fall upon anything edible but nothing seemed to taste good. Everything was disgusting, actually. Booth, he ate for ten, shoving everything down his throat. If he continued at this pace, he'd be rolling out of this hospital not needing a wheelchair.

Booth. She smiled slightly.

"No need, but thanks for the offer," she reclined politely and shook the Agents' hands before walking out the door, headed for her shared room.

She wandered through the corridors and tried to erase the past three hours from her mind. Always had been good at forgetting stuff, humming quietly to herself. A children's song to which she didn't know the words anymore; her mother used to sing it is all she knew.

Opening the door, she met with the gaze of her partner, who, apparently, had been watching TV during the time she'd been away, the remote lying in his lap.

"You okay?" was the first thing he said.

His inquisitor gaze and the worried look stretched across his face made her smile inwardly. Usually, it would have annoyed her, but right know, it felt heart-warming to know that she had someone who cared about her.

"Yeah. I've told them everything I know."

"The nurses came by with dinner while you were away. It's beside your bed," he pointed out and she glanced at the tray, making a face.

"I'm really not hungry," she protested.

"Eat, Brennan. No excuses," Booth tried to get her to smile. And eat. Her spine was palpable through her robe and her complexion was pale, her hands cold and slightly trembling most of the time. Food was what she needed.

"You're not the boss of me, you know," she retorted while kicking off her slippers and getting into her bed, yet pulled the tray towards her and lifted the lid off her plate. The food smelled fine but she knew it wouldn't taste so. "If you think you are, I'll just go back to my room," she added with a mischievous smirk. Some way to change the subject, maybe. Unfortunately, it did not work.

"How did it go?" her partner inquired from the other bed, watching her eat.

She shrugged.

"They were nice." Second bite. Disgusting. Third bite. Gross. She frowned. "Booth, please don't make me eat this," she begged.

"What are you Bones, anorexic? That were _three _bites. I counted, just so you know."

"You're not the boss of me," she complained again. Bite four. As bad as the rest.

"No, Cam's your boss," Booth told her, eyeing her suspiciously as she put the spoon in her mouth and pulled it out again, chewing on its contents slowly.

"You're not expecting me to finish my plate, are you?"

"I'm not; the nurses are. Better start eating something soon or they'll put you on an IV again," he warned her.

"I'm gonna go back to my room," she threatened again. Bites five and six. She swallowed with difficulty, reaching for the glass of water on her nightstand.

"Will you watch TV with me? There's a British detective called Midsummer Murders. Suppose you'd like it," he offered kindly.

"Sure. Thanks." Anything to make her forget the interrogation and all that it had been about. Bites seven, eight, nine and ten. She was done. "That was awful," she said with a pout as she put the lid back over her plate and placed it on the nightstand. Booth had already started shifting, creating some space beside him so she could hop in.

Despite, or maybe because of her fatigue and slightly depressed state, she had been wanting to crawl in with him and was glad she didn't have to ask. It would be… unlike her to ask, and more like him to offer so this worked best. She sometimes wondered how they had come to this—so close, so comfortable around each other, so… intimate. It sometimes felt weird, awkward, wrong. But most of the time, she just chased these thoughts. It was better this way.

She quickly jumped in beside him and snuggled under the covers, lying shoulder to shoulder with her partner. It took him under ten seconds to invite her against him, his arm securely wrapped around her. She sighed shakily and let some tension leave her body. Hating how she felt in his arms, because she couldn't be safe with herself.Hating how good it felt, because somehow it was not right.

"You think you like this show?" Booth asked softly, sensing the interview had downed her mood considerably.

She had been staring at the screen, lost in her thoughts, without really watching or listening.

"I think so," she answered and sounded easier, tilting her head to rest it against his cheek for a moment, then remembering her will to be strong for herself and sat a little straighter.

Both in the same boat. She wondered how long it would take her to quit this bad habit of seeking comfort in her partner's arms. She even wondered if she'd ever be able to stop, now. Then, she tried to convince herself that he needed her for comfort, too. He was the one always asking, after all. So, she clung to this idea, because it was reassuring, and calming. And right.

* * *

_**A/N: So, did you like it? Then tell us so in a review, it will make us happy. In the next chapter, Brennan and Booth are leaving the hospital. See you next Sunday, have a good week!**_


	6. Sunny

_**A/N: We know you love Sundays. And we love your comments. Thank you so much for your reviews, you're too kind. And here we go again with a mix of fun and fluff with a bit angst but above all !!SPOILER!! well, remember that scene we all loved in the Widow's Son? Let's say you'll have this kind of scene before the end of the chapter. But if you skip to this part without reading what happens before this, it'll be deleted automatically. Just kidding. Good reading and thanks for your fidelity!**_

_**PS from Mag: for those who're reading the Child in the Forest, I apologise, really, about the time it takes me to update with next chapter. I've been very busy and tired with my new work and new rhythm, but I promise I'll get used to it, and I promise I'll update very shortly. Sorry, sorry, and sorry again.**_

* * *

**Chapter 6 – Sunny**

"Booth, that is not a toy!" Brennan cried out, running after her partner. "Booth, stop! Booth!"

"Hey, stop being so grumpy, Bones!" Booth called back at her, paying no attention to the amused looks of the people around them.

"Stop or you're gonna hurt someone! You might even hurt yourself!"

"No, I control it perfectly, look." He made the wheelchair do a complete turn before raising his arms in victory.

Brennan grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and, holding them firmly, she bent down to move her mouth close to her partner's ear. "Booth, everyone's staring at us," she scolded him through her teeth.

"They are not staring at _us_, they are staring at _me_, because I'm the wheelchair champion!"

"Booth, stop being such a child," she sighed, pushing him towards the exit.

"Bones, stop being such a killjoy," he said, imitating the tone of her voice.

As his partner answered nothing, a look of satisfaction stretched across Booth's face. His grin grew even wider when the huge glass doors opened to let them out. The sun was shining outside, and it helped him think positively. Some days of rest, and he'd be okay. He tried to chase away every negative thought that came to his mind—how he'd explain this to Parker, what would happen if he didn't recover use of his legs as fast as expected, and what if he didn't recover at all. All these thoughts, he banished them. Whining and dreading didn't serve to anything but self-pity, and self-pity was not for Seeley Booth.

HeHe closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It felt weird to think that exactly forty-eight hours earlier, he was preparing a desperate attempt to rescue his partner, whom he didn't know was alive or dead. And it felt surprisingly good to know that now, he wasn't coming back home alone—that he was coming home with her. Being in a wheelchair seemed an insignificant detail compared to all this. No, there was definitely no place for negative thoughts in his mind this morning.

"Beautiful sunny day, isn't it, Bones?"

"The taxi's here," she announced. He couldn't see her but he was pretty sure that she was smiling. He could hear it in her voice.

"And how will I be able to climb in it?" he suddenly worried, glancing around for the taxi.

"It's a taxi designed for disab—"

"Don't say that word."

"—bled persons."

"You said it."

"What about it? It's the truth, Booth. It's a car especially designed for persons with motor disability—"

"I'm not disabled, okay? I'm momentarily unable to walk," he groaned. "And I can drive my wheels myself," he added, suddenly taking control of the wheelchair.

Brennan rolled her eyes and let go of the handles, huffing.

The taxi driver, a tall, African-American man, welcomed them with a warm smile and opened the back doors to allow them access.

"You can sit in the front if you like, ma'am."

"It's okay, thank you. I'll keep my partner company."

The man nodded his comprehension and helped Booth roll inside. After Brennan settled herself in, he closed the doors and climbed in the driver's seat.

"Will you let me try it?" Brennan whispered as they were travelling away from the hospital.

"Try what?"

"The wheelchair."

Booth let out a chuckle. "I don't know… It's men's stuff, you know," he teased.

"I'm sure I could win an arm wrestle with you," she mumbled with a pout.

This time, he wasn't able to keep himself from actually bursting out in laughter. "Yeah, in your dreams, Bones. But all right, I'll let you try my little marvel."

"Stop making fun of me or I'll cook you spinach for dinner."

"Good. I love spinach."

She made a face and crossed her arms in front of her chest in a sulking manner. As she turned her eyes to the window, pretending to be interested by the passers-by and storefronts outside, he looked at her and his lips curved in a tender smile. The sunlight piercing through the window gave warm auburn reflects to her hair.

"Thank you."

She turned her head. "For what?"

"For, you know… Doing this for me."

"Booth… We agreed not to talk about this again, remember?"

"Right."

"538 Beaver Drive," the taxi driver announced cheerfully, and a warm feeling spread across Booth's stomach. Finally, he was home again, and they had bickered, hugged and shared. They were both okay. Everything would go back to normal.

* * *

Curious, Brennan stuck the key in the door and turned it. Opening it slowly, she took one step inside and glanced around. Nothing had significantly changed since the last time she'd been here. The interior was still very masculine and clean, with no superfluous decorations in the window sills or on the tables. A lot of wood. A plasma screen TV. Of course. A kitchen of moderate size to her left and the living room to her right. The furniture was arranged in a practical way and she liked this.

_Bang._

She frowned.

_Bang!_

Oh!

"Booth, what are you doing?" she called and put the keys down on the counter in the kitchen.

"I could use some help here, Bones! Thresholds are bad for people in wheelchairs…"

Not being able to keep herself from grinning, Brennan walked back to the front door and watched her partner make another attempt at wheeling over the threshold, which was obviously not working. Obstacle number one.

"Let me help you," she laughed and shook her head at his stubborn expression as she walked around him and grabbed the handles.

"Not that kind of help, Bones. There's a- NO WAIT!" he called out as she tilted him slightly backwards.

"Booth-"

"Bones, put me down!" he threatened.

With a sigh she complied and put her hands on her hips.

"It's not going to work like this, you know," she told him strictly.

"Not like this, but it will if you'd walk to the backyard and get a rectangular piece of wood from the shed. It's unlocked."

Another sigh and she left him alone to get what he asked for. When she came back she put one end of the board over the threshold and the other on the path, allowing Booth to wheel in himself.

"You have a nice backyard," she told him once they were both inside and he was occupied with getting rid of his jacket while she did the same, but more elegantly.

"Thanks! It's really nice to eat out in the summer and make snowmen with Parker in the winter. Now it's just too cold to do anything."

He watched as she stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows which provided a good view of his backyard and felt excited as well as a little hesitant to be spending so much time with her. In _his _house.

Suddenly she turned around and for a moment he felt caught staring at her, but then he noticed her warm smile and matched it quickly.

"Give me your jacket," she said and passed him after retrieving it, leaving a trail of her perfume lingering in the air for a few seconds. A familiar, intoxicating smell. A lovely perfume he could easily get used to—if he hadn't already.

* * *

"You are aware that the nurse is coming in a few minutes, aren't you?"

He shot her a look. Of course he was aware.

"I was merely reminding you," she shrugged and brought her cup of coffee to her lips. Nice, how utterly normal it was again to drink.

It was late in the afternoon and after Brennan had made them coffee, at the same time getting familiar with her partner's kitchen. Booth had shown her around the house. Fortunately he only had one floor so he would have no trouble getting to his bed— and bathroom. Beside the kitchen and living area, which were located in the same room, there was Parker's bedroom, filled with toys and bright colours; one bathroom with a toilet, a shower and a bath; a den which Booth used as an office and a guest bedroom which was to become Brennan's domain for as long as she'd stay.

She'd been discharged from the hospital a day before Booth and today had taken her packed suitcases with her to the hospital to retrieve her jubilant partner. Apparently he was as fond of hospitals as she was; namely not at all.

The one day and night in her own apartment; her last day of freedom as she had jokingly referred to it when Booth asked her worriedly if she hadn't better stay at Angela and Hodgins's, had been weird. Everything had been so wonderfully familiar and adapted to her taste, yet the atmosphere seemed to have changed. Logically, since the door was locked, she should have felt safe and at ease, but this hadn't been the case. At first she'd put on loud music to calm and distract herself, but she turned it off after she found she wouldn't be able to pick up on any strange noises. Music wasn't safe; silence was threatening.

She had packed her suitcases and fixed herself a cup of tea; coffee didn't seem like a good idea at that point. Then, she'd thought about calling Angela and asking her to come over and ended up getting her voice mail, so she merely informed her best friend that she'd been discharged and Booth was about to follow. She had said nothing about his current condition though, on her partner's request.

Deciding she wouldn't allow herself to get paranoid she had put on the music again, only softer this time, and resigned herself to reading the Forensic and Anthropology journals she'd received while she had been away. It became painfully clear that life had continued without her, even in her own home.

The rest of the day she'd spent tidying up and cleaning her apartment, but inevitably the time came when she had to go to bed and close her eyes. Her strategy: Taking a hot bath to soothe her nerves and then reading herself to sleep. While in the bath she'd noticed the outward evidence of the violence inflicted upon her body was starting to disappear. A good thing because a) she felt better and b) Booth would have less to fuss about. Eventually it had proven not to be so difficult to fall asleep, but to actually get some rest while she was sleeping. Something inside her just wouldn't allow her to let down her guard, not even in her dreams, not when she was alone.

That is why she hoped staying at Booth's would be helpful to her as well as to him.

Five minutes later the doorbell rang and Brennan jumped up from the couch to open the door. Booth heard her invite the nurse in and take their coat. He found himself slightly surprised upon seeing the nurse's appearance. First of all it was a man and secondly, he didn't look like he was gay.

"Hello, Mr Booth, my name is Derek Johnson. How are you doing?" Derek smiled broadly, revealing two rows of shiny white teeth, starkly contrasted by his dark skin.

"Ehm, wow, tricky question. Fine, I guess. And you?" From behind Derek, Brennan shot Booth a warning look, telling him to behave himself.

"I'm doing great, Mr Booth, thank you," the young man smiled heartily.

"Would you like something to drink, Derek?" asked Brennan politely.

"Oh, sure, Temperance. Yeah, coffee's fine, thanks!"

"_Temperance_?" Booth repeated indignantly.

Brennan answered over her shoulder as she made more coffee. "Derek will be coming over daily, Booth. We might as well call one another by our first names."

"Oh. Well for the record: I like to be called Booth."

"We know that, Seeley," she teased. "Oops! I mean Booth."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Go ahead and make fun of me." She could have _such_ a childish sense of humour sometimes that it almost became funny, though he didn't admit this.

While Derek drank his coffee they discussed some practical matters and Booth was surprised by Brennan's aptness dealing with all this.

Then, when Derek had placed his empty cup on the table, they took a tour through the house, listening to Derek as he gave advice about adjustments they should make for Booth's well-being and mobility in and around the house. Naturally, squints will be squints so Brennan jotted down notes and asked questions, frowning in concentration as she sucked in each word Derek said. She could never do anything half-heartedly. Typical.

After this, Booth and Derek went to the bathroom and Brennan decided to start cooking. Booth deserved something nice for his homecoming. It was new for her, having someone to take care of, someone she wanted to please. She realised that she really wanted to please him. But it was so much easier to write it off as an attempt to distract him from his condition.

She opened the fridge, considering what would be nice to cook with what she had brought. Wait... She had cheddar, parmesan, butter, onions, and there had to be pasta in the cupboard.

Her lips curved in a contented smile. She grabbed a pot, filled it with water and began dicing the onions. When the water boiled, she threw the pasta in it and glanced at her watch.

When Booth and Derek emerged from the bathroom, the dish was already being baked in the oven, diffusing a nice smell throughout the house.

"Man... What smells so good?" she heard Derek's voice say.

She raised her head from the magazine she was reading, sitting at the counter.

"Aw... Seems like Bones was so bored that she cooked lunch," Booth said with a teasing, yet happy smile.

"You lucky man."

"Wanna stay over for lunch?" Booth proposed, looking up at the nurse.

Brennan smiled. She was glad to see that these two were getting on well with each other. She had expected Booth to be more difficult, but for the moment, he seemed to comply with the unavoidable and not always pleasant medical care.

"Nah, thanks, I've got, you know, another patient to visit," Derek answered, wrapping himself in his coat. "See you tomorrow, bud?"

"Yep."

"Have a good day," Brennan said with a smile before he disappeared behind the door.

"Hey, since when are you nice to people?" Booth asked sarcastically.

She raised an eyebrow. "Since it'd be much less pleasant for you if I'm not," she answered with a smirk, getting to her feet, forgiving him the sarcastic remarks. "You hungry?" she asked, not letting him the time to retort anything.

"With that smell in the house? Sure I am."

He tried to roll further into the kitchen to take a better look at the oven, but she blocked his path, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"What have you made?"

"You'll see when it is on your plate," she said.

"C'mon Bones, you can tell me," he said with begging eyes.

"Don't be such a child, Booth, and go to the table, please. You're standing in my way."

"Jeez Bones, don't talk to me as if I am four years old."

"Then stop acting as such."

He huffed but moved back to the table like she had told him to. _Don't fly off the handle now, bud, it's not a good idea at all. You don't wanna argue with Bones here. Better, you don't wanna argue with her at all._

He took a deep breath and looked out the window. _Sunny day, happy day. You're both safe, well, you yourself could be better but it's gonna be all right in a few days, and see, she's cooking for you, what more can you ask for?_

His smile grew wider when she put a plate down before him.

"Mac and Cheese?"

"Uh—uh. You like it, right?"

"Woah, oh yeah it's perfect, Bones."

He closed his eyes and breathed in the delicious smell of the food with an exaggeratedly ecstatic look that made Brennan laugh. Then, he seemed to realise that it could be eaten and he jabbed his fork in his food. When the food was in his mouth, he chewed slowly, raising his eyes to the ceiling until he swallowed it all and glanced back at Brennan.

"I did it with what I had. Is it as good as the last time?"

"Do you want to marry me?"

Puzzled, she stared at him, at his shining eyes and teasing smile for a long moment, before answering. "Wh—what? No, I—You know I believe that marriage is an archaic instit—"

"It was a joke, Bones."

"Ah... Sorry."

"But it's delicious, and when I say that I'm not kidding," he added before bringing his fork to his mouth again.

She felt relieved and intrigued at the same time. There had been something in his eyes. Not humour, not provocation, really—something else. Something she caught from one time to another. And when she did, it always ended in an awkward silence. This time also, it did not fail to. She lowered her eyes to her plate, pretending to look at what she was digging her fork in. When she raised her gaze, she met his eyes briefly before he averted them.

"So... Is it okay with Derek?" she attempted to begin a conversation.

"Yeah, he's a nice guy." He wasn't about to tell her about what had been going on in the bathroom; it was way too embarrassing to discuss with someone who generally respected him as a man. Actually, Derek had explained to him how to handle 'restroom businesses' mostly. In those twenty minutes, Booth had found great respect and admiration for people who had to spend the rest of their lives in a wheelchair. They'd also got talking, and when Derek had told him he had been a nurse in the army for one year, Booth decided that they had a connection and he might as well cut him some slack. Much to his partner's relief, he was sure.

She swallowed a bite of Mac and Cheese before continuing, bringing him back to present.

"Good. Because he's gonna—"

"Be here every day, yeah Bones, I get it." That he liked the nurse didn't mean he was happy with having to be looked after like a child. If people saw him like this, helpless and weak, they wouldn't be able to respect him anymore. That's why he didn't want anyone to know.

She put her fork down on the table. One minute ago, he had looked like he couldn't have been happier, and now he was upset. She shouldn't forget how vulnerable he must be feeling. He was a tall man and now the world looked down upon him. Not really, of course, but that's how he must feel. It was bad enough for him that she witnessed him in this state, even when she didn't find him weak at all; on the contrary. In her eyes, he was the bravest man she'd met until then. She knew for a fact that many, if not all of her former boyfriends would be depressed and completely forget about other people around them. Well, maybe not Sully. Ouch. That was a stab in her heart. She'd told herself to forget about Sully… But Booth still managed to get worried about her. If she could just learn to be subtle once in a while...

"I'm sorry, Booth. I know how difficult it is for you, I shouldn't have brought it up again." Seeing that he was still staring at his plate, eating quietly, she sighed. "Sorry, I should stop talking."

She did like him and lowered her gaze. She pushed the food around with her fork nervously. Suddenly, she wasn't hungry anymore. She bit her lower lip and heaved another sigh of frustration. She had known it wasn't going to be easy, but she was just fully realising to how great an extent.

She was about to put her fork down and sit up when she felt his hand on top of her left one.

"No, I'm the one who should apologise, Bones. You're making a lot of effort; you're patient, you found me a nice nurse, you cooked this wonderful meal just for me, and all I'm doing to thank you is being grumpy. I'm sorry."

She moistened her lip before looking at him. "It's okay. I like cooking, it's relaxing."

"That's a good thing 'cause I love eating."

When their laughter died out, they both realised that his hand was still on top of hers. He gave it a squeeze and withdrew it, slightly embarrassed. Then her eyes held his for another moment, telling him it was okay, and they continued eating as if nothing had happened.

* * *

Brennan put the last plate back in the cupboard. She stretched the towel over the back of a chair and let out a sigh of satisfaction. They had managed to spend the afternoon without arguing too much. Booth hadn't been too grumpy, and she herself had discovered that she could have the patience of a saint. She was sure now: They were going to make it.

She was already dressed in her pyjamas when she heard Booth call her.

"Ehm, Bones…?"

Within seconds she was in his bedroom, where she found him grinning sheepishly in his wheelchair. His upper body was bare and she noticed a small heap of clothes on the floor beside him, including his shirt, shoes and socks. She also noticed that his belt buckle was unclasped.

"This is about as far as I get," he told her and she smiled at him. She had already decided on her approach to this sort of thing.

"It's fine, Booth," she assured him and kneeled in front of him. "Push up your body."

He did as he was told- hell, how else would he be getting out of his jeans, and used his arms to lift his butt off the seat. Her small hands swiftly took hold of the jeans and slid them down his legs. Booth's gaze was turned to the ceiling as he tried to distance himself from the current situation and one word repeated in his mind. _Degrading, degrading, degrading… A woman pulling off my pants has never been this degrading. Degrading, degrading, degrading…_

"I got it, you can sit now."

_Thank God._

She gave him another comforting smile as she pulled his jeans off entirely and he could muster but a sheepish, half-hearted smile in return.

"Listen Booth, I know you may think this is embarrassing…" she started to say and his face contorted.

"_Don't_ bring it up, okay, Bones? We need to do what needs to be done. I can't be wearing these jeans forever now can I?"

"All right. Sorry."

"And please, stop apologising."

"So- Okay."

They both grinned and Booth reached under his pillow to pull out a shirt. He quickly put it on and they faced the next task: Getting him in the bed.

"Okay I've thought about this-" they began to say in unison, then burst out laughing.

"God, Bones, look at us! How on earth are we going to manage this?" he laughed.

"Don't worry, we will," Brennan replied, wiping the tears off her cheeks.

"We really should try to make this not so awkward."

"I agree."

"All right then. Let's get this useless body of mine in bed, shall we?"

"Not useless, Booth," she murmured.

"Okay. How about I try to roll my upper body onto the bed and you grab my legs?"

"Sure. Seems like a good plan."

They proceeded to do as Booth said and for a moment, it seemed to actually work. Until…

"Bones, my ass!"

…Brennan didn't shift the weight of his legs fast enough and Booth threatened to roll back into the wheelchair. However, she quickly stopped his movement by pushing her hip against his back and pushed him onto the bed. Losing her balance once he was safe upon the bed, she fell on top of him. His chest, she couldn't help but notice, felt surprisingly soft despite the taut muscles she'd noticed before.

"You okay?" came his soft voice.

"Yeah. Are you?"

He huffed. "You weigh not nearly enough to crush me. Of course I'm okay."

She lifted herself from his body and stood beside the bed, pursing her lips the way she did when she was about to admit to something.

"What?" he smirked. "Are you disappointed you didn't crush me?"

"No, I was just thinking… how am I going to get you back into your chair in the morning?"

"Hey," he drew her attention, "don't worry about that. We'll manage just fine, okay? Besides, it's not _you_ who needs to get me back in that chair, it's _us_. We're a team; we're partners, remember?"

She nodded. "You're right."

"I always am."

"Not true."

"Is, too."

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Bones, you had really better give up; me and Parker, we play this game all the time. I can last for hours," he informed her.

She pouted a little, pondering his statement, then decided to be the mature one. Wasn't she always?

"Just tell me what time you want to get up tomorrow; I'll take a shower before I come get you."

He folded his hands behind his head. "Anything's fine with me, Bones. As you can see, I have a television so I'll be entertained until you wake up."

"Good. Because I like to sleep in, you know," she told him while repositioning his legs and covering him with the duvet, "for I have to catch up on a considerable amount."

"Fine. No problem, no problem at all," he replied casually and stretched his arms. "You got everything you need, by the way?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"No. Thank _you_. Night Bones!"

"Sleep well," she replied and quickly left the room. Closing the door behind her, she couldn't help but think back about his bare chest… Good breeder indeed. _Brennan! _Purely anthropologically speaking of course. As always, purely anthropologically speaking…

* * *

_**A/N: That was nice and long, wasn't it? We can't even begin to tell you how much we love writing this, and it's thrilling to see how many of you love reading our work! Reviews make us truly happy and proud, so please leave one. The next chapter will contain a curious e-mail and some night time comfort… Looking forward to next Sunday yet? We know we are!**_


	7. Stronger

_**A/N: The reviews we receive make us so happy, thank you so much, you're the best. Hoping this chapter will fulfil your expectations!**_

* * *

**Chapter 7 – Stronger**

A small blush on her cheeks. Brennan stared at her reflection in the mirror of the bathroom. After nearly ten days, her face wasn't pale anymore. Yet, some persons would manage to look at her with concern, maybe even pity. For her coming back to work, she wanted to look good.

Some discrete eye shadow. No, she wanted to look better than good.

Brown mascara. She was glad to note that the bags under her eyes had disappeared. The nightmares had almost disappeared too, now. She had made up the lack of sleep. Knowing that Booth was on the other side of the wall was extremely reassuring, even if he wasn't in any condition to fight would it come to that. The mere knowledge that she _could _hide in his arms put her at ease enough to sleep through the night. Of course, she would never let him think that she needed him, even if it was true.

Natural gloss on her lips. On one hand, she was glad to get back to her usual working routine.

Finally, a cloud of perfume. On the other hand, she was back without her partner. And it was something she'd have to explain.

A whistle made her turn around. Booth was in the doorframe, his forearms resting casually on the armrests of the wheelchair and a smile playing on his lips.

"What?"

"You look good."

"Booth, I always wear this makeup."

"You smell good then."

"Same perfume as usual."

"I like this shirt, the colour suits you—"

"What do you want Booth?" she asked, having a hard time keeping herself from bursting out laughing.

"Uh—Nothing. I'm just encouraging you before you go, that's all. I didn't mean to bother you."

She felt guilty at seeing the sheepish look stretched across his face. "Well—Thank you."

Putting the bottle of perfume back on the shelf, she gave him a smile and he smiled back with some kind of sparkle in his eyes. "I'll miss you."

Slightly startled by the revelation, Brennan chose to ignore it and, cocking her head to the side, she bit her lower lip. "Derek will be here at eleven."

She heard him sigh. "Yeah, I know."

She walked out of the bathroom, towards the living room, and picked up her jacket which she had left on a chair. Slipping it on, she noticed that he was staring at her from the door. She wrapped her scarf around her neck. "I'll say what we agreed to, don't worry."

"That's not what I'm worried about," he said, rolling closer.

"What is it then?"

"Coming back to work after what happened... It's never easy. I wish I was able to be there with you for this."

"I know," she whispered. "But I'm gonna be all right."

Her confident smile had the expected effect on him: Concern seemed to leave his eyes as he watched her put on her coat.

"Do you need anything before I go?"

He shook his head slowly. "No."

"See you tonight, then?"

"See ya, Bones."

She lingered a little too long, looking in his deep dark eyes. Something indefinable was keeping her from moving. Maybe she was a little scared, after all. Feeling that he wouldn't be the one who'd do it, she finally broke eye contact with him and walked to the door. "Enjoy your day." Her hand gripping the handle, she hesitated before turning a last time to him. "I'll miss you, too."

She left a little too quickly, embarrassed and scared by what she had just said. But indeed, except for the day and the night she had spent alone at home, they had been together since he had rescued her. Not surprising, then, that she missed him being around. She missed his reassuring presence. That was all.

* * *

It seemed that Angela had arrived early and had decided to stay on the platform, watching out for her friend's arrival, because as soon as Brennan slid her access card through the card reader, she heard a shrill cry and the sound of heels hitting the floor. And as soon as she walked onto the platform, she felt arms tightening around her.

When Angela pulled out of the embrace, she examined her friend from top to bottom with some kind of concern in her eyes, before giving her a satisfied grin. "You look good!"

"Thank you, Ange."

"I was worried, I tried to call you last night, but you wouldn't answer your phone. I left a message on the answering machine."

Brennan treated herself a fool. She hadn't thought about this.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you that my phone is out of order. You should try my cell phone until it's fixed."

"All right, then." She glanced over Brennan's shoulder with a slight frown. "Where's Booth? I thought he would come with you."

"No. It's the winter holidays, you know. He took a week off to go skiing with Parker in Vermont."

She hated to lie. She rarely did. She usually didn't understand the purpose of it, except when it came to bluff while interviewing a suspect or anything linked to a case. But in front of Angela, she felt ill-at-ease. Lying to her best friend felt like betrayal.

"Welcome back, Doctor Brennan!"

She turned and pulled her young assistant in a brief hug. "Thank you, Zack."

Another quick hug with Hodgins, a polite nod with a smile from Cam, and she was back in her office. When she stepped in and switched the lights on, she all of a sudden felt weird and lonely. She couldn't help thinking back of the last time she had been in it. Everything had been different then. She sat at her desk. The files of the case had been moved. She knew exactly where she had left them.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to chase the dark thoughts out of her mind.

Instead, she remembered that she wouldn't go back to her empty, too quiet apartment this night. That he was waiting for her. He'd welcome her with this wonderful smile of his, she'd tell him about her day and they'd joke while having dinner. Then, in the evening, they'd probably watch a nice movie—not without arguing about which one to choose—her lying on the couch, him next to her.

She felt a wave of warmth wash over her and her lips curved in a tender smile.

"What are you thinking about sweetie?"

She hadn't heard her friend following her. "Uh—Nothing."

Ignoring her best friend's evasiveness, Angela decided to continue their conversation. It felt so strange, having her back here when twenty-four days ago she couldn't sleep because she feared for her life, because the images of her friend's battered body kept hunting her wherever she went, with whomever she was. She remembered she had hated Booth, truly, utterly hated him because he forced her to analyse the horrible pictures they'd received from Brennan's capturer.

"What are you working on?" Angela asked.

"I'm taking a closer look at the pelvis to specify my estimation of age. I've found two possible candidates for the remains; identification will come down to determining whether he was in his mid-twenties or early forties."

How wonderful it was to finally be able to enthusiastically spout facts and anthropological terminology again.

"Well, you should let me know if you need my help on anything," Angela offered kindly. After a moment of silence she added, "I've missed you, sweetie."

Tearing her eyes away from the computer screen, Brennan heaved a sigh and her expression softened. "I've missed you too, Ange," she replied sincerely.

"Hug?" Angela proposed with a smile and immediately her friend stood up and rounded her desk, bringing her arms around her shoulders and hugging her tightly.

"Aw, I _hate_ it when you get kidnapped."

"Me, too."

They laughed and let go of each other.

"I should get back to work now," Brennan said.

"Sure, sweetie. Let's have lunch together. With everyone, I mean."

"Sounds great."

After Angela had left her office Brennan sank down in her chair and turned back to the computer screen, noticing she had received an e-mail. She clicked on it and shook her head with a smile as she read it.

_Hey Bones!_

_I don't know what you're doing (although I do have a strong suspicion) but me, I'm BORED. Derek was early and he says hello. He's particularly pleased with you because I was clean as a baby when he arrived. Our little system seems to be paying off, you see._

_Anyway, I'll leave you to your bones and try to hack the Bureau again. Can't believe Cullen went this far to keep me from working…_

_Hey, what do you say I'll fix you a cup of coffee for when you get home?_

_Your favourite Special Agent and his wheelchair_

Holding her hand against her mouth, Brennan laughed at this ridiculous, desperate e-mail from her partner. She really did feel sorry for the man. Bored must be an understatement. If she were in his position, she'd work on her book, but Booth didn't have any hobbies that she knew of which could be done from a wheelchair.

She'd make him a wonderful dinner tonight, that was for sure.

Where did this warm feeling come from, suddenly? Was it perhaps the sentence about making her coffee? Nice, to have someone doing that for her. To have him doing that for her. It made her feel special somehow, and cared for. Yes, she'd come home, _home_ he'd called it, and find the house not empty, and the smell of coffee would welcome her and the lights would be on. It sounded… domestic, but wonderful all the same.

And then his mention of 'their little system', she'd thought he would be too embarrassed to talk about it with her, or to acknowledge it even occurred. He was referring to the fact that she helped him wash. One morning she had entered his bedroom after receiving a phone call from Derek, telling her that he was going to be delayed until that afternoon. _What about Booth? _Sighing, she'd resigned herself to her only option and went to her partner to inform him.

"_So I'm not going to get cleaned up or dressed until two?" Booth asked incredulously._

"_You're not if you want to wait for Derek to come by," she answered in her logical voice, looking him straight in the eye._

"_I guess I know what you're suggesting, then."_

"_I could help, if that's okay with you," she voiced his guess._

"_Really Bones, I appreciate the offer but I don't want to be any trouble-"_

"_Of course you're no trouble, Booth. Don't even think that. You saved my life. Again. If it wasn't for you I would have been dead three times now. No, probably more-"_

"_I don't want you to do anything you don't want to, Bones. Don't feel inclined to take care of me, don't even feel inclined to stay, okay?" He'd taken her hand while talking to her. Why, he himself didn't know for sure._

"_I want to stay, Booth."_

After that, she'd retrieved a washcloth from the bathroom as well as a bowl with hot water and a towel and soap and washed his legs, his feet and his back. The rest, he had insisted, he could do himself. They'd discussed which movie they would watch that night; there were so many that according to Booth she _had _to watch, yet the first four had turned out to be rather lacking characters –stereotypes were _not _characters, she'd assured him, and so she insisted on picking a whole different kind of movie for that night. Surprisingly, after pressing him until he got annoyed, he had admitted to owning Sense and Sensibility and she had bullied him into watching it.

Frankly, the whole experience of living with Booth and taking care of him had left her feeling relieved, for they were managing really well together. Another good thing was that nobody besides them knew about it, so they needn't answer any difficult questions about their relationship. She wouldn't know the answer, anyway. She didn't feel like thinking about it. It was obvious that the line they had so clearly drawn had been somehow erased in the past few days. Each nail-biting situation they had been through together had drawn them closer, but this time was different. Between them, things would never be the same. They wouldn't be just partners, just colleagues anymore. They couldn't.

But as much as she usually analysed everything with her scientific reasoning and her anthropological point of view, this was a subject she avoided carefully to consider. And she really didn't need anybody to consider it in her place.

* * *

Booth let the remote control drop on the coffee table and rubbed his face in frustration. For the umpteenth time in what seemed to him an endless day, he glanced at the clock. Clearly, it wasn't the same when Bones wasn't around. It wasn't just that she helped him. Without her voice and laugh to break it, this silence wasn't peaceful but heavy; without the trail of her perfume in the air, it felt almost useless to breathe. It was crazy how she had become essential to him. And he knew that she couldn't do without him, either. He could see them, the looks behind her eyes; when she searched in his the reassurance and care she needed in order to carry on. He knew how strong she was. He knew how strong she was for him. They were strong together. They had always been. He wouldn't disappoint her. As degrading and terrifying his situation was, he would do his best not to complain. He would wait for his legs to carry him again. He could wait for her to come back, too.

He eyed the door and imagining her opening it and enter made him smile; trying to guess what she would prepare for dinner made his mouth water; thinking of what they would do during the evening made him cheerful. Some days ago, he would have laughed at the mere idea. Even now, he should have felt weird about it. But, surprisingly, he didn't.

* * *

Brennan glanced at the clock in her office. Finally, her day at work was almost over. Not that she hadn't enjoyed working, but it seemed like everyone in the lab kept shooting her these looks; of pity, of curiosity, of awe even for having survived once again. Lunch had been great, except her co-workers had obviously been trying to avoid the subject of her abduction. Also, she felt slightly embarrassed by the fact that everyone had seen the pictures the killer had sent. They were too personal, showing her in a state of having no control, in a state of weakness she wished to bluntly deny.

She sighed, as if it would make the discomfort leave her body and mind. She caught herself thinking about what she'd prepare for dinner. What was she now? A housewife? And what were they? An old couple? She shook her head, smiling to herself.

"Brenn, can I come in?" Angela interrupted her thoughts as she stood in the door opening.

"Yeah, sure," she answered quickly and watched as her friend closed the door behind her. "What's going on?"

"I was about to ask _you_, actually." A short silence fell. "Sweetie, look- I don't mean to make you uncomfortable but I just need to talk about this with you, okay? I've seen the pictures. Booth… asked me to analyse them, to try get a clue as to where you were."

She put a hand on Brennan's forearm to connect with her and at the same time keep her from fleeing the conversation.

"Sweetie, are you okay?"

Angela's eyes penetrated hers and she swallowed.

"I've healed up satisfactorily and I'm able to sleep through the night- Ange, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"But you're… crying. Is it because of me?"

"Oh Brenn, it's just… Look at you. You've been through so much and these horrible things keep happening to you. And you- you go through them and hope to live and then you're back at work, acting as if nothing happened. You are so strong. In fact, it seems like you're getting stronger with each time something terrible happens to you."

"I don't see why that's a bad thing."

"I'm just starting to wonder; is it you who's getting stronger, or those walls you've built around yourself?"

"I hate psychology."

"I know you do. And I wasn't using it on you. I was merely being metaphoric. Please, just think about what I said and don't be afraid to ask for help. You've got friends, use them if you need to."

"Okay."

"I need more than that, Brenn. Walls don't just keep others out, they lock you in as well."

Brennan stood up and rested her hands on her best friend's upper arms. "Angela. I promise you that if I need help, I'll ask for it. And I promise you that you're the first one I'll turn to. Is that okay with you?"

With a slight smile of relief, Angela nodded her satisfaction.

"I'm fine, considering what happened to me," Brennan felt obliged to add. "I may have been through terrible, terrifying moments, but I've always got away fine, don't you think? And do you know how I made it? I made it thanks to you guys. And you, Angela, in particular. You know that, right?"

A spark of gratefulness glowed in Angela's eyes. A hug, again, and after some goodbye words, she was gone. Brennan didn't move. While the sound of her friend's heels was fading, she kept staring thoughtfully at the door. She thought back of the last two years and the few times she had come within a hair's breadth of death. She thought back of her parents' disappearance, of her father's reappearance. She considered her current state of mind. And, as so often, she decided that she was fine. She decided that she wasn't scared anymore. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

* * *

The next day, the phone call she received from the FBI forensics team left Brennan cranky and unpleasant towards her co-workers. After a day of hiding in her office, burying herself in a pile of work, the trip back home wasn't enough to calm her down, and Booth found himself puzzled when she closed the door behind her so quietly it told him she was refraining from slamming it shut.

"So, Bones, would you like some coffee?" he tricked her into talking to him so he could tell from her voice what his approach should be.

"Sure," she told him simply and marched towards her bedroom with her bags, obviously needing some time alone. When the coffee was ready, Booth loaded the steaming cups onto a tray and wheeled to his partner's bedroom, rapping the door a few times.

"Come in," he heard her call and he opened the door, rolled inside and put the tray on the nightstand.

"Coffee, Bones," he said softly and waited for her to turn her face towards him from where she was lying on the bed.

She sighed as she did so.

"Thanks, Booth."

He expected her to begin talking any moment now. He wouldn't ask. She'd say what she had on her mind when she'd want to; when she'd be ready. And indeed, after a couple of sips the reason for her foul mood came forward.

"Booth, the FBI forensics team came up pretty much empty."

"The warehouse?"

"Yes. They said—" she gave a mirthless smile, "there was no evidence to suggest anyone but me ever lived there. All they found was my blood in that room and some unprintable objects."

"That sucks, Bones."

"All this time I dreaded his footsteps, and he wasn't even there. My anxiety, the screaming… all for nothing."

A tear appeared in the corner of her eye and Booth looked at her with sincerity in his eyes.

"So no evidence, huh?"

She shook her head and the tear rolled down her cheek, where it was stopped by Booth's thumb as he wiped it away.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

"Me, too," she concurred, sniffed and brushed her cheeks with her fist, removing the moisture. "We'll catch him though, right?"

"Right," he smiled reassuringly and was glad to see her face brightening a little, too. She reached for her coffee again and felt a little bit better. Because the warm drink had something soothing, reassuring. Or maybe was it merely due to her partner's presence. She didn't know very well anymore. But was it that important?

* * *

She lay in her bed, hesitating. Tonight she found it hard to fall asleep. Probably because of the bad news, because they were getting nowhere with the investigation. Maybe because the feeling of endless guilt had settled upon her again. She had that sometimes and it caused her to not be able to sleep, to ponder over the possibilities, worst-case scenarios, best-case scenarios, though these came to her less often.

Booth. His legs. What if he would never walk again? What if, for the rest of his life, for the rest of Parker's life, he'd be confined to a wheelchair which, ironically, immobilised him? How could anybody sleep, knowing this? Rationally, she understood that all this was an unfortunate concurrence of circumstances, but emotionally, she felt responsible. She tried not to, but she always did.

_Beating yourself up isn't going to help matters, Brennan._

No, this time not even her rational voice could ease her guilt. The gnawing feeling of responsibility was eating at her like a parasite and she didn't know how to get rid of it. Then she heard him again. This moan. That awful sound. She knew that in his dream he was in pain and anxious. He'd had nightmares before, but the nurses at the hospital had always been there to help and explain to her that this was common. What he couldn't—or wouldn't—express consciously he dealt with in his sleep, when his mind had no control over what he was thinking. Mostly Booth didn't even remember in the morning. Should she let him ride it out? He moaned again from the other room. No, she couldn't.

Quietly, she got to her bare feet and tiptoed to his bedroom door, which she opened carefully before peeking inside. He hardly moved, but his face was contorted. Oh God why did this have to happen to him? Why not to her? Why had she not just died or got away on her own? Poor, poor Booth… If anyone didn't deserve to go through this, it was him.

Stealthily, she approached the bed and held still in front of it. When she understood that calling him in a low voice wasn't effective, she decided to squat down beside him.

"Booth," she whispered softly near his ear in an attempt not to startle him. "Shhh…"

It wasn't until she'd put her hand on his arm ever so lightly that he opened his eyes and looked at her strangely.

"Bones?" His former expression was completely gone, and once again he seemed not to remember having had a nightmare.

"I'm—Uh—I'm sorry for waking you. You were having a nightmare." Even though it was just them, she whispered as if not to wake anyone else.

"I wasn't having a nightmare," he spoke in a sleep-laced voice and smiled, looking at her as though she was crazy.

"Yes you were," she insisted.

"No." he assured her. "I wasn't."

"Fine. Good night then," she said and stood up, beginning to walk away.

"But thanks for your concern!" he called after her, shaking his head. Was she getting crazy or was he losing it? Maybe both.

* * *

_**A/N: Are they going crazy? Or are they just unsure of how to call their new level of 'intimacy'? (Even though this is our story so we can basically make it as fluffy as we want, we aren't going to spoil it with out-of-character stuff, but we want them to get together as much as you do!) Did you like Booth's mail? That was fun to write. We have to warn you by the way: These chapters have been more of an introduction to the **_**real**_** plot that we've figured out. You will find out more about this next Sunday… see you then!**_


	8. True Nonetheless

_**A/N : We'd like to say a big thank you to our readers, especially to our recurrent reviewers. Knowing that you appreciate our story that much makes us very happy. We told you that the former chapters had to be considered more as an introduction. Now, the case really begins. We hope you'll find it interesting. Good reading!  
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Chapter 8 – True nonetheless

There it was again, lying innocently and anonymously on top of her desk; the file. The file which now contained information about herself as well, in which her name occurred for more than one purpose. The manila folder felt no heavier than any other as she lifted it off the smooth surface. With a sigh, she sat herself down and flicked on her desk light, then got her notepad and a pen. She was going to start over; read everything again, hoping to find something that had somehow been overlooked before.

The victim. Forty-five-year-old Michael Benson, no wife, no kids, did have a girlfriend. Persephone Williams, a junkie with a record. Much the same as her boyfriend; first possession, then dealing. Benson had been quite handsome, though his features were shadowed by years of drug-abuse. His black hair hung in strays along his face and his dark, dull eyes stared at her expressionlessly from the picture enclosed in the file.

She put it aside and picked up the picture from the crime scene. It displayed Benson's remains lying face-down, his hands bound behind his back with straps, a leather blindfold that had been used to cover his eyes was still dangling around the skull. He had most likely been kneeling when he was killed, execution style. A very common way of disposing of enemies or infidels in the drug circuit. There were no objects present as he had been left at a riverbank, somewhere quiet. A group of teenagers had stopped beside the road to use the river as a restroom when they found the remains. Brennan remembered the scantly-clad girls repeatedly crying 'oh my God' as their boyfriends were being questioned. She had found this rather ironic; for obviously it was a little too late to be asking for God's help.

Evidence from the crime scene contained merely some soil and water samples and lots of pictures because it was protocol. Not that they would get anything from them. Usually from the crime scenes she visited they could barely get any evidence. That's why her job was so important. Some people would think this arrogant, but to her it was merely a fact without any further meaning. She'd told Booth once before she had an indispensable skill to her own aid; now Cullen had used it against her. Or rather, it had been his reason for reassigning her to the case. Usually, if one had any connection to the crime, they were to be taken off the case immediately. Somewhere inside Brennan felt proud that Cullen had this much confidence in her professionalism.

Back to the case. After the positive identification, Booth had found Benson's family and announced their son's death, which had come as no surprise to them, seeing as how he had lived. Dealing drugs, it would remain a dangerous profession. All they had been able to give Booth was the name of his girlfriend, Persephone Williams, and via her parents they'd been able to get an address. Brennan had gone in with Booth when nobody answered the door, only to find Persephone shaking and beaten half to death in a dark corner in her bedroom. At first she had refused to answer any of their questions while they were waiting for an ambulance, but later in the hospital she had confessed that she'd been beaten because she wanted to know where her boyfriend was. By whom, she wouldn't disclose until Booth had offered her protection.

Persephone's lead had brought them into the underworld of DC, in certain alleys at certain times where you knew you were surrounded by dealers but wouldn't be able to catch them dealing. Their transfers were swift and silent and every single one would have their story at the ready when questioned.

The breakthrough in the case had come a week later. Using the method to make out the bullet's characteristics from the microscopically tiny scrapings in the skull she developed herself, the bullet had turned out to belong to a gun used by FBI agents, moving the case to number one on Cullen's priority list, but none of their weapons had been reported missing and Cullen wouldn't let the scientists investigate every single gun owned by his people. Another FBI conspiracy, Hodgins had been keen to announce, and he found it appropriate to add that it could have been Booth himself! This had resulted in Booth shooting him a deadly glare and threatening to provide him with bullets for comparison- in his leg. In any case, they knew which weapon had been used to kill Benson and they had a strong suspicion someone from the FBI was involved.

Narcotics had been asked for assistance in the case. Booth had requested every shred of information on the drug gang Benson had belonged to and found some names kept recurring in the files: Shane Stark, Tricia Greg and Matthew Delaney. The first suspect they'd interviewed was Shane Stark. A small guy with neatly-cut blond hair and a wicked grin he would flash Brennan constantly, trying to impress her with the smoothness of his words, attempting to gain her sympathy by flattering her, causing Booth's anger to finally spoil over and roughly grab him by the collar, hissing he was the one he should address now, not the lady. Stark had been all too keen to provide them with information on his competitor's gang, which, surprisingly, proved to be useful. All he could tell was that he'd seen Matthew Delaney, highest in rank when Benson wasn't present, and Persephone Williams have a wild make-out session when Benson hadn't been around, thus moving Delaney to the top of their suspects list.

Logically, Delaney would have been the second suspect they'd interview. However, he appeared to have left the district so they had decided to move on to Tricia Greg, who was in Stark's gang, instead. Her vocabulary made up for the frailty of her form as the curses spilled from her lips when she described the relationship between Stark and Delaney. Apparently, Stark knew something that Delaney didn't want the world to know and so Stark blackmailed him. About the relationship between the victim and Delaney she could say without any doubt that although they had seemed friends, Delaney despised Benson for the power he had over him and he was secretly planning on asking 'the big bosses' for a favour. Greg further disclosed that Delaney had appeared almost from thin air into Benson's gang and worked his way up in record time. How did she know all this? She'd studied Journalism before getting addicted to drugs and since then had been using her skills to spy on certain people for others who paid her in cocaine.

From this, Booth and Brennan had been able to conclude that Matthew Delaney had to be their guy. His first reason to kill Benson was because of his affair with Persephone. The second so Stark wouldn't be able to blackmail him anymore. It made perfect sense. What also made perfect sense was that Delaney had disappeared immediately after the murder. There was only one thing left that bothered them, though. Where did the FBI weapon fit in? How had Delaney obtained it? Who was the dirty agent?

She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes for a moment, then lowered her head until her face rested in her hands. All their clues seemed to point to Matthew Delaney, yet they couldn't place him at the scene of the crime, nor did they have the murder weapon to put in his hands or could they prove that he had had the opportunity to shoot Benson. And worst of all: Their investigation had been interrupted before they had the chance to interview Delaney. According to Narcotics, he never stayed away for more than a week. When the week had been over, though, she was abducted and Benson's case had been dropped temporarily for hers.

The one attempt at tracking down Delaney had been offered to them because of her abduction. If the FBI would find her, they would find Delaney. Yet it had proven to be fruitless. The fact that she'd shot him meant he needed medical attention. Every hospital was obliged to register bullet wounds and so Cullen had ordered his people to call every single hospital in the state, but they came up empty. No recent bullet wounds to the right leg had been brought in. This added another fact to Delaney's description: He must have an ugly scar since he had most presumably treated his own wound…

Deciding that drawing relationship diagrams wasn't her method of working a case, Brennan stood up from her chair and closed the folder, leaving it on her desk, while she went to retrieve Michael Benson's remains. She was going to study them again. She would meticulously inspect every inch of bone. She would make sure she didn't miss the smallest anomaly, the tiniest cut.

However, just as she was ready to investigate the remains which she'd laid out on the stainless steel table before her, she heard the shrill ring of her phone in her office. It was quieter than usual in this section of the lab. Mostly people were buzzing around the platform, retrieving and storing forms while enjoying a quick conversation with a co-worker. Seeing as she had just disinfected and gloved up, she decided to ignore the phone. Whoever it was, was going to have to wait until she was done with this.

She bent over the table to do a general inspection of the bones, starting at the skull, working her way down as she jotted down any possible places for anomalies or injuries to the bone. Then her cell phone started ringing. Getting frustrated, she was left with a choice: Continue working and let the ringing work on her nerves even more, or grabbing the device and turning it off, hereby having to disinfect all over again. No, no, no; she would stand her ground. No interruptions during her inspection of these remains. But wait- what if it was Booth? What if he needed her? What if he'd fallen out of his chair or hurt himself and he couldn't… Huffing, she peeled off her left glove and grabbed her cell phone from her pocket.

"Brennan."

"Good afternoon, Doctor Brennan. This is Sam Cullen. I'd like to discuss-"

"Actually, I'm working on Michael Benson's remains right now," she cut him off. She didn't care if Booth would have scolded her for this interruption of his boss.

"Well I can see how that's important but I'm calling with interesting information for you and the case, Doctor Brennan." The way he repeated her name and the tone of his voice told her that he was actually annoyed. Cullen wasn't the kind of person who accepted this kind of disrespect, but as he was obviously trying to contain himself, she understood that he needed her for something.

"Oh. I guess you should tell me right away."

"I assigned another agent to the case. As your partner."

She remained stunned for some seconds, hardly believing what she had just heard. "What? I don't need a new partner, Booth is—"

"—incapable of working with you for the moment, you're aware of that. It's only temporary. I'm telling you, Doctor Brennan, you'll appreciate him. He is already updated on the case."

"Why would I need a partner?" she mumbled.

"This man, Leonard Cummings, was formerly employed at Narcotics; he used to be an undercover agent. He knows the kind of people that you have to deal with in this case on a personal level. He'll be a considerable help. Anyway, you understand perfectly well that I can't put you on this case without an agent to form a link with the FBI."

She knew that very well indeed. It had already happened once, some months ago, when Booth hadn't been allowed to investigate a case in Florida with her. And that was how she had met Sully. She let out a sigh of resignation.

"All right, I understand. I'll make sure to notify him if I get anything new from the remains. How can I reach him?"

"You can ask him that yourself. You'll meet him in an hour. I'll send you a vehicle to take you to the scene."

"What scene?"

"Cummings says he's found the murder weapon."

"I'll be ready."

With a huff she hung up, guessing the remains were going to have to wait until maybe the next day.

* * *

FBI cars were parked in a semi-circle around the crime scene, officiating as a barrier to keep curious onlookers from contaminating the scene. Since it was a case hitting their home, FBI agents swarmed around the cars, as if thinking their large number would confirm the find had to do with the case. As she dragged her boots through the mud, there was only one question in Brennan's mind: How the hell had this man, only just assigned to the case, been able to find the murder weapon on his first day?

"Doctor Brennan?" One of the men who were standing in a circle noticed her and beckoned her to come over.

"Leonard Cummings?" She shook his outstretched hand. "Where is the murder weap-"

"Wow, what a catch you are. Beautiful, and smart too. Rumours don't do you justice, not at all."

She stared at him, puzzled. What was this man trying to do? If he attempted to flatter her to get along better with her, he got off a bad start. And if it was humour, she didn't find this funny at all. After all, they were on an assignment and might have found the missing piece of evidence that could lead them to the killer. The rest wasn't of any importance to her.

"Rumours?" She realised that he was still holding her hand. She tried to pull it away, but he wouldn't let her.

"Your partner sure is a lucky man. But hey, let's forget all about him. It's just you and I know." He'd turned his back to his colleagues and held her other hand in his, as well. Brennan frowned angrily at him and jerked her hands free.

"No, Booth is still my partner. You're only- temporary," she made sure to emphasise. "Where's the gun you've found?"

Cummings raised his eyebrows and let out a chuckle. "Touchy," he noted to himself, but loud enough to gain him a deadly glare from his new 'temporary' partner.

He finally decided that had been enough for an introduction and he walked past her with a wicked grin. "Follow me."

She boiled inwardly. "You'll appreciate it," Cullen had said. Now she wondered if he actually knew the guy. She could only hope there would be as little contact with him as possible. She hated it when people didn't appreciate her intelligence. If she wanted to be hit on, she'd go to a bar. She wished she would be able to do her job correctly without some kind of jerk bothering her.

She remembered she had thought almost the same of Booth the first times they had worked together. She found him annoying, boastful, cocky. She didn't like to think about this, now, even if it was true nonetheless. She wished that he was around. She wished he was still working on this with her.

They reached an SUV and Cummings pointed at the object in the trunk. It was a gun -which looked pretty much the same as Booth's, cased in a plastic evidence bag. She bent forward to take a closer look.

"Don't!" Cummings suddenly called out and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her away from the gun. "Don't compromise the evidence," he explained in a friendly voice, smiling comfortingly at her.

The patronising look in his eyes and his syrupy voice caused her to fly off the handle. "It's in a plastic bag! And I never compromise evidence. I usually tell others not to," she hissed.

Fine. If he wouldn't let her look at the gun, she would do so at the lab. That's where it was going, anyway. Her territory. There would be no point in her having come here, but alas. She wasn't going to be around this jerk longer than absolutely necessary.

"Who found it?" she asked.

"What do I get if I tell you?" he teased and gave her this wicked grin again. She kept herself from slapping him hard across the cheek, and thought of how much she preferred Booth's charm smile over this guy's grin.

"All right, that's it," she said in a lower tone than she thought she would have been able to muster. "I can't work with you. Have the gun transferred to the Jeffersonian and my people will deal with it there." She turned on her heel and stalked away towards the car that had brought her here, slamming the door shut when she was in.

"Please take me back to the Jeffersonian," she demanded in an irritated voice and her driver was quick to comply.

She wished Booth was here instead of this jackass she'd never be able to call her partner. She felt so upset, so tired. She wished that he was there with her and that she was able to find comfort in his arms. Then, she wished that these thoughts wouldn't keep popping up in her head. She didn't like it when she thought like that. She was a strong, independent woman. She didn't need anybody. She didn't like the fact that she missed him so much. But it was true nonetheless.

* * *

"Good evening, Bones!" His greeting, cheery as usual, calmed her slightly. She turned her back to him for a moment while closing the door and took a deep breath, trying to get her anger under control.

"Hey Booth," she replied simply in a flat voice.

"What's wrong?" His tone was worried and she sighed. How could this man possibly _know _every time something bothered her?

"It's… nothing." The last thing she wanted was to cause him was more frustration. He needed to stay as happy as possible if he wanted to heal soon. And _she_ wanted him to heal soon. Needed him to… no- she didn't need anything from anyone. That was her principle, that was how she lived.

"Bones, you don't honestly think I'm buying that, are you? C'mon, tell me," he demanded, looking up at her with both concern and expectation.

"Cullen assigned me a new partner today. One Leonard Cummings, just transferred from Narcotics. He's been undercover with the drugs people connected to the case so he thinks he's the boss of me. Of everyone," she explained exasperatedly while putting away her coat and bringing her bag to her bedroom.

"From Narcotics?" Booth repeated thoughtfully. "Did Cullen mention why he was transferred?"

"No, why would he tell me that?" She continued towards the kitchen, putting the kettle on. Booth followed her slowly.

"It's just that nobody from Narcotics transfers to Homicides. Especially not undercover agents. I don't know what it is with those people, but we just don't seem to mix."

He was speaking more to himself than to her, actually. God, he was really sorry she had had a crappy day. Sometimes he could get really worried. He knew how busy she was all the time, mostly because of him; working, cleaning, cooking, taking care of him, working some more… And she still hadn't shown any signs of having suffered a mental trauma. Now that they were living under the same roof he should think he'd notice any changes in her behaviour, but he hadn't. If she was tired, if she was upset, if she had nightmares, she didn't tell him. He started to wonder if this woman even had a breaking point. And he felt guilty that she was likely to be hiding a lot of things from him, for his sake.

"Hey. Are you upset or something? You're drinking tea and all," he pointed out.

"So me drinking tea tells you I'm upset?" she pointed out his hidden argument.

"Well, not always, but… yes. It does now." He knew she wasn't satisfied with his answer. "Are you?"

"Upset? Hm. Rather annoyed is more like it. This guy Cummings thinks he's better than me. I hate that," she confessed and leaned against the counter while she waited for the water to boil, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"I know you do."

"But at least he found the murder weapon."

"Yes, how did he know—"

"I haven't a clue! In fact, he refused to tell me anything. He's just- so different from you, Booth. I—Even though I'm aware it's only temporary, I wish Cullen hadn't been obliged to replace you with this—" Booth smiled when she cut herself off just in time to refrain from muttering an insult. The water finally boiled and she quickly turned to make tea.

"Hey, Bones." She turned back to look at him. "I'd give you a hug, but—" He stopped himself mid-sentence for she had already lunged forward and all but fallen to her knees beside his chair, hugging him tightly.

"Thank you, Booth."

Those simple words felt like a caress, and the sensation of her breath in his neck sent shivers up his spine as he rubbed her back comfortingly.

"I'm glad you told me," he said softly, a tender smile spreading across his face. It seemed to be the place he preferred her to be; in his arms.

* * *

_**A/N: And? What do you think of the case? We actually feel rather proud for coming up with it. Anything you don't understand now, you will eventually. If not, we promise an extensive explanation. In the next chapter, there's something going on with Booth… See you next Sunday!**_

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	9. Breakthrough

**_A/N: We know some of you love when there's some Angela; she'll appears at the beginning of this chapter with a little fun about Cummings, for a change. And you already know that something's going to happen with Booth... Good thing, bad thing? You'll know it very soon now! Good reading!_**

**Chapter 9 - Breakthrough**

She had never been annoyed by making progress in an investigation. She had never thought that she would have wished for the gun found by Cummings to not actually be the murder weapon. Yes, she had to admit that she wished he hadn't been right. But it was scientific; undeniable, unquestionable. The bullet had come from this gun.

She combed her fingers through her hair, already upset at the mere mental picture of the smug smile he'd give her. As much as she wanted to solve this case and find the bastard who had taken her and put Booth in a wheelchair, she wasn't quite sure how long she would be able to hold herself from kicking the guy in the testicles if he'd keep acting this way with her. She had been about to call Cullen, earlier. She had hesitated, then dialled his number, to finally change her mind. She didn't need anybody to help her deal with some kind of jerk. And she would certainly not be caught whining in Cullen's apron strings.

She was brought back to reality when a wincing Angela appeared at the door.

"Sweetie, you know how much I hate to disturb you when you're thinking those brilliant thoughts of yours but I really think you should come."

"Why? What's going on?"

"One name: Cummings."

Brennan rolled her eyes. "He's here? Nobody called me."

"Well, he presented himself at the security desk and I was around so I told the guard I would handle it," Angela explained, stepping in. "He put his hand on my butt," she added with a lower voice and a funny embarrassed look.

"He did what? I'm sorry, Angela," Brennan said, finding it hard not to laugh at her friend's expression. "Did you slap him?"

"I was about to, you know. But Jack was there and he saw everything, and you should really come because I swear there's gonna be another murder."

Brennan stood up, a look of exasperation stretched across her face. She crossed the lab, Angela following her on her heels, and headed for where she heard the shouts coming from. She had never seen Jack so furious. But when it came to Angela, it seemed that it was hard for him to contain himself—which, incidentally, was quite understandable. What's more, when it came to Angela, it seemed that anger greatly increased his strength, for he had managed to grab the guy's collar and had him currently pinned up against a wall despite the fact that he was much smaller than him.

"If I had known she was your girlfriend, I wouldn't have allowed myself to, man, I swear," Cummings said with a steady voice, his casual attitude seeming to annoy Hodgins even more.

Brennan moved closer, shaking her head in frustration, wondering what on earth she had done to deserve this. She placed herself between the two men and shot Hodgins a disapproving glare before she grabbed Cummings's sleeve. Surprisingly, the latter let her drag him to her office without putting up resistance.

"I like that, when you're rough with me."

Ignoring his mockery, she stood in front of him and straightened her back to seem as tall as possible. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked in a cold voice.

He shrugged. "You going to send me to the boss's office or something? 'Cause I hear she is hot."

"Not that hot," she huffed, "Anyway, I'm not letting you near any of my co-workers again. From now on, when you come here you call me first, explaining precisely what you need and I will have it ready for you when you arrive. You'll stay in your own building as much as possible," she commanded him with her hands on her hips.

"Aw, but Temperance, I'm sure we can work something out—" he was saying as he stepped closer to her, invading her personal space while he maintained eye-contact, causing her to take a step backwards almost immediately. Not out of fear, out of disgust.

She wanted to show him he didn't intimidate her before moving away so she narrowed her eyes at him. "Harass Angela or me one more time and I'm requesting Cullen to remove you from the case," she threatened and he smirked. In truth she would never call Cullen over this, but Cummings didn't know this, did he?

At that moment, Angela walked past her office, dragging Hodgins with her to let him blow off some steam in her office. It made Brennan almost smile, the way they interacted with each other. Angela definitely held most of the ropes in their relationship, though Hodgins made sure to take over the reins every once in a while.

"They seem pretty tight, don't they?" Cummings's voice brought her out of her thoughts, brutally reminding of his unpleasant presence.

"What did you come here for, anyway?" Brennan's expression grew stern immediately and she decided this was the only look she would be giving him from now on.

"Oh, you know, just wanted to see you again," he smirked, earning himself a deadly glare which changed into a warning look as she unsubtly rested her hand on her desk beside the phone and cocked an eyebrow at him. "Or… it might have something to do with the analysis of the gun, which, if I may remind you, we got thanks to me," he winked.

She despised him. She despised everything he said or did, his voice, the way he moved, his lack of manners, the way he looked at her, the way he—the way he just wasn't Booth... Heaving a sigh, she mentally shook herself and thought that at least she'd see her partner, the _real_ one, in a couple of hours.

"It's the gun that killed Michael Benson," she quickly confirmed.

"Ah. And what else do we have on this individual?"

"We have his DNA."

"That's all?"

"Forensically, yes."

"That's not very much." His words hit her like an insult.

"It's not everything we have. Delaney's got motive and opportunity. The only thing we can't explain is how he got hold of an FBI gun."

"Whose gun is it?"

"I thought you said you'd studied the file."

"So you don't know."

"No guns have been reported missing."

"Yet this baby must belong to someone. This agent must be so lonely without his toy…"

"Stop mocking the case, Cummings."

"Please, call me Leo, Temperance."

"It's Doctor Brennan for you, _Leo._"

"All right, sexy enough, fits the hot lab coat. Anyway I've come to write down the serial number of the gun so I can find out who it belongs to and possibly solve the case. What do you say?" He challenged her and nudged her shoulder.

* * *

Slapping his arm away and shooting him another glare, she could do nothing but answer, "Follow me," and get him what he wanted.

* * *

Normally, he would have called her instantly. Usually, he would have waited for her to get home so they could go together. But this just couldn't wait. Finally, all of his effort seemed to pay off. The tiniest bit of progress, but it was the beginning of everything going to be all right. It was the start of becoming his old self again. He simply couldn't wait any longer.

Typically, Bones had hooked him up with the best physical therapist in town. And ever since his first appointment she'd come with him. He'd offer to call a cab, one that could transport wheelchairs of course, but she always insisted on coming along. Although now she would stay in the waiting area and read a book, the first time she'd gone in with him, curious as ever to study the exercises and make sure he'd do them at home, too. Not when he was too tired or too frustrated because of his seemingly fruitless exertions, but when he was hopeful she encouraged him and massaged his legs to stimulate his circulation.

"_Will you keep doing this when I've recovered use of my legs?" he asked as he folded his hands behind his head._

"_I don't think so," she answered with a slight smile and in a teasing tone as she carefully twisted his ankle._

"_Because it's very annoying to have you doing this and I'm unable to feel anything. So, I was thinking, you know, if it'd be possible that I never let you know I can walk and you will keep giving me these wonderful massages…"_

_She dropped his foot on the bed and tended to the other one. "I would think that very childish of you, Booth. Unless—" She stopped massaging and she was thoughtful for some seconds, her eyes turned up to the ceiling. "Unless you repay me in kind and then we can have another talk about it."_

"_Well, I'd indeed have to think about that. Though I might just accept the offer."_

"_You already owe me a back-rub in return for this, anyway."_

"_What? You're kidding, right? It's not fair, I can't feel anything!"_

"_Well, it's only what you're telling me," she said with a mischievous glint of a smile._

He remembered having rolled his eyes at her and how they had both burst out laughing. She was the one who rolled her eyes, usually. But now he liked to let her have the last word on some subjects, simply to see this wonderful look on her face; merely to hear her laugh.

The ringing of the doorbell started him out of his thoughts. Oh yes, she was going to like his surprise. He swiftly wheeled through the living room and opened the door.

"Hi, please come in."

"I came as soon as possible. Now tell me, please; how much of your leg have you been able to move?"

* * *

Sometimes, he was tired of playing this little game. Sometimes, he wondered if all these efforts were worth the result; if all these risks were worth the money. The money, and very likely his life. Perhaps some more alone-time with Persephone…

Several times, it had occurred to him that maybe he wasn't paid enough for this. But he had chased these thoughts away very fast, for he knew it was but a mistake. It was too late, anyway. Whatever they say, once you have entered these circles, it's impossible to get out. Once you've accepted their money, you can't go back. And once you've killed, you can never stop.

Yet, he couldn't help dreading the slightest false move he would make. He knew very well that juggling with identities was never without the risk of giving himself away, and that opportunism could hasten his fall. In this game, he had no allies, no friends. He couldn't trust anybody; he could count on nobody but himself. Fortunately, this person was sly and brilliant. And fortunately, this person had more than one trick up his sleeve.

* * *

Tiredly, she closed the door behind her. Putting away her coat, she noticed how silent the house was. Usually Booth was already waiting for her when she entered. She mocked herself for this thought. What was she, a working woman coming back home and expecting her husband to welcome her like a pet? Tsss. She tried to laugh at herself, but it didn't seem right and the eerie feeling took the upper hand on her as had been often the case, lately.

Frowning, she dropped her bag to the floor and glanced around. She focused hard on her breathing to calm the furious rhythm of her heartbeat. Nothing seemed out of place. But it was so _quiet_…

"Booth?" she called and waited, holding her breath, for a response. A shiver ran up her spine and she swallowed. She felt irrepressibly terrified by the mere idea that he could have gone out, that she could be alone. Then, she reassured herself, remembering how afraid he was that people might see him in a wheelchair. Maybe he had just fallen asleep. She glanced at her watch. At six thirty? Highly unlikely.

But then… where was—

"Bones!"

She jumped nearly a foot into the sky when he suddenly emerged from—somewhere; she was too startled to pay attention to where he had come from.

"Booth, you—"

"Surprise!" he called, drowning out her voice.

"Don't ever do that again," she hissed in a low voice. "You scared me half to death."

She bent to grab her bag from where she'd dropped it on the floor, proceeding to throw it onto her bed before walking towards the kitchen and getting herself a drink.

"You want anything?" she asked him.

He shook his head. She shrugged and emptied her glass in a few gulps, then put it on the counter with a clap.

"So how was your day?" he inquired.

The tone of his voice betrayed some kind of excitement, and, looking at him, she noticed this sparkle in his eyes. But she didn't ask about it. If he was happy about something, she would get to hear it soon. He'd asked about her day first.

"We had a breakthrough," she said matter-of-factly.

"Really? Today must be a good day. A great day. What kind of breakthrough?"

Gazing suspiciously at him, she continued her story while in the back of her head she was beginning to get curious. She wondered what was going on, exactly. He was acting really strangely…

"You know the gun that Cummings found? It's a match to the murder weapon."

"My condolences."

"Thank you. I hate it that he's the one who found it. Anyway, the important thing is we have it now, and Cummings has even been able to find out the owner."

"That sucks. On one hand I guess. Who was it? Do I know him?"

"I don't know all the people you know, Booth. But apparently it belongs to an agent named Randolph Kiernan."

"Doesn't ring a bell. So what was his story?"

"That he didn't know his gun was missing and so he didn't report it."

"That doesn't make sense. He must have noticed his gun was missing. No agent goes without using it for weeks straight."

"Apparently that's correct. But he told us, and Cullen confirmed this, that he had been hiking with his wife and two of their friends when he tripped and broke his ankle, thus confining him to an office chair for a few months. What's more is that he claimed the trip occurred at the time of the murder."

"And?"

"His alibi checked out," she concluded with a pained expression. "That was our only lead from the gun."

"Hey, don't worry. I'm sure you'll find something else."

"I hope so. There's got to be more evidence, I just need to know where to look."

"That's my girl," Booth said, shooting her one of these wonderful grins of his. "Now, I happen to have had a little breakthrough of my own while you were interrogating agents with your partner—"

"He's not my partner," she was quick to correct him, and he grinned sheepishly.

"Of course he isn't; I'm your partner."

She nodded her head with a smile. "So, tell me about your breakthrough."

"I was thinking of how to tell you, you know, since you might cry and all…"

"Booth, I won't cry. Tell me quickly!" she warned him, and for a moment he merely looked at her.

"I can move my left leg," he all but whispered, his eyes sparkling with happiness as hers filled with tears of the same.

"Oh, Booth!" she called and threw her arms around his shoulders, heaving a sigh of great relief. "That—that's really great. Good. I'm proud of you."

Patting her back, he couldn't help but tease, "I told you you were going to cry."

Pulling back and looking him square in the eyes, she insisted, "I'm not crying. My eyes are dry. You can see that."

"Shall I show you?"

She smiled widely and stepped back. As his left knee stretched, lifting up his lower leg and foot, she watched with amazement.

"I'll cook you anything you want tonight," she told him happily. "And then we'll watch whatever you want."

"Wow, Bones. I'm starting to think I should do this more often," he flashed her his charm smile and let his leg drop back into its former position. "How about you make the both of us a cup of coffee and I'll start thinking about what I'd like for dinner." As she rolled her eyes, he added, "Not my fault! You're a splendid cook, you know. It's hard to make a choice."

She blushed. And felt it. Damn.Quickly, she turned around and got a coffee filter from the cupboard to her left as she simultaneously grabbed the pot and put it underneath the tap.

She had hesitated a lot today, about telling him what had happened right before the interview with Randolph Kiernan. Now she knew she wouldn't tell him. It wasn't that important anyway. Despite the fact that this strange feeling of _wanting_ to share it with him crept up her back, she decided to tell him nothing. If she wanted to become herself again, to be utterly independent, she should start right now with repressing the urge to turn to others for comfort. She needed to learn how to comfort herself again. Just like before. Somehow she knew he would want to know, but she herself decided to forget it ever happened. There was nothing that could be done about it anyway.

"What happened to your arm?"

"What?"

"Why did you hide your arm?"

"I didn't—" she began before realising that she had instinctively pulled down her sleeve, a little too obviously, maybe.

"Bones—"

"I—It's nothing, I just—I—" She didn't find an excuse quickly enough and while she was stammering, he had moved closer and grabbed her arm gently. "It got stuck between the door of my office this morning, it's pretty silly. I guess I wasn't completely awake yet."

She went tight-lips and pulled her arm back to prevent him from doing a further exam of the now purple bruise on her forearm, but it was already too late.

"Doesn't seem like you got stuck, Bones. Who did that to you?"

She kept insisting on her story, although she knew perfectly well how badly she always managed to lie to him. "Nobody, I told you, I just—" She interrupted herself, understanding that it wouldn't lead her anywhere. "I had a fight with somebody."

"Who?"

"It's not important."

"It's this guy, Cummings, isn't it?"

She let out a sigh of surrender. Why did he always have to guess everything? "Yes. I had a fight with Cummings. I just—I can hardly bear him."

"And he did this to you?"

"It's no big deal, you know, he looks worse," she stated.

This time, she managed to maintain his gaze with no visible sign of emotion. In his dark eyes, she saw that he wasn't buying this, but he said nothing. She served herself another glass of water. She had reached her point. The discussion was over. She had had the last word.

* * *

Booth turned his gaze to his quiet partner lying on the couch next to him and realised that she had fallen asleep. Without averting his eyes from her, he grabbed the remote control and switched off the television. She seemed so peaceful, with her eyes closed, and so relaxed, with her steady breathing. But he knew that it wasn't actually true. Even in his presence, she kept jumping at each noise. He had seen a quick but not less present spark of anxiety in her eyes, earlier. And there were those nightmares. He heard her, sometimes—too often to his liking. He wished he was able to sit close to her, then; to wake her slowly with reassuring words whispered in her ear; to hold her tightly, and show her that she was not alone; that she had no reason to be afraid anymore; that he was there to protect her. But he couldn't even get out of his bed by himself.

Delicately, he pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over her face.

"What do you think you're doing?" she mumbled in a sleep-coated voice.

He smiled but ignored her threat and tucked her hair behind her ear before drawing back his hand. She protested against his alpha maleness a lot less these days, and when she did utter a threat, he knew she didn't mean it. It was her way of maintaining her I-need-nobody façade.

He wished that he could tell her all this. He hated that she had to be scared, tired, stressed and upset. And he hated that she had decided to be alone with it. Also, he hated himself for having to wake her, eventually. It wasn't fair for her that he depended on her so much. Getting in his bed, getting out, getting dressed, washed, to physical therapy… It was like she was taking care of two persons completely instead of only lending him a hand every now and then. But, above all, he hated himself for not being able to promise her that he was and would always be her partner and her gun.

* * *

_**A/N: Was the fluff to your liking? We must admit that when we reread this chapter, we melted at our own writing! So what can we tell you to make your wait bearable until next Sunday... Maybe that next chapter will begin with the killer's POV, and he's really creepy. That Brennan will 'rock', and that Cummings is still a jerk—he's preparing her a surprise she won't like at all. Have a nice week!**_


	10. Breakdown

_**A/N: My dear friend Catherine left us for one week of holidays, so I'm left alone to post the chapter, can you believe that? I hope that everything's right... Let me check... The former posted chapter was chapter 9 and 10 comes after 9 right? Hehe. Just joking. I think we'll never thank you enough for the lovely, kind, nice, wonderful reviews we receive for each chapter. So, big thanks to you, again. In this chapter, you'll be happy to know that a sweet little boy will appear in our story soon! Meanwhile, Cu—jeez, I was about to write Cullen lol Sorry Cullen! We still love ya—So as I was saying, Cummings is still a jerk and it makes Brennan upset but this makes Booth's protection instincts towards his partner stronger, and we love that, don't we? I hope he's gonna kick Cummings' ass before the end of this story.**_

* * *

**Chapter 10 – Breakdown**

He brought the cup of coffee up to his mouth and took a gulp of the hot drink. He was feeling incredibly cheerful, this morning. Cheerful and impatient. He swallowed more coffee, emptying the cup before he put it down on the counter. When he buttoned up his shirt, he considered the best place to take her. When he adjusted his tie, he decided what he'd use this time. When he laced his shoes, he thought of how much he'd tighten the ties around her wrists and ankles. For sure, this wait was part of his excitement. When he wrapped himself in his coat, he wondered how long he'd make this little game last. And while he was locking the door of his apartment, he settled himself on how exactly he'd kill her.

* * *

"You're right; the swelling's completely down, Booth," Brennan announced happily, pressing her fingers in his lower back.

"Your recovery should go twice as fast now."

He rolled onto his back and pushed himself up into a sitting position on his bed, matching her smile.

"Wow…" was all he could say. "I guess this means I get to decide what we'll have for dinner again."

Rolling her eyes at him, she answered strictly, "You can guess again. I'm making us chicken tonight. Period."

"You know, Bones, although you say you don't want children, you'd make a good mom. One hell of a mom," he added as he pulled his shirt over his head, covering his well-toned upper body. Brennan helped him into his chair and nudged his ribs with her fist.

"Watch your mouth, young man," she teased before preceding him to the kitchen where breakfast was already served.

"Yes grandma!" he called after her and smoothed the covers on his bed before following her.

"Want some coffee?" she asked him from the counter.

"Ah, you're spoiling me! Yes, I would love some coffee."

"Isn't that what grandmothers do? Spoil their grandchildren?" she turned to face him, two steaming coffee mugs in her hands which she proceeded to put on the table. "And pinching their cheeks?" she laughed and firmly grabbed her partner's cheek between her thumb and forefinger.

"Ouch! Okay, okay, you're not a grandma. Have mercy," Booth groaned and Brennan gave him a last squeeze before stepping back with a satisfied grin on her face.

"That's what I thought," she agreed warningly and sat at the table as Booth rolled himself to the opposite side and grabbed a slice of bread. Brennan smeared hers with strawberry jam and took a big bite.

"Hungry, are we, Bones?" Booth teased as he took a smaller bite of his bread.

"What do you think, I haven't eaten all night," she retorted with her mouth full.

"Most people don't eat all night yet they behave themselves at breakfast."

In truth, he was grateful for her healthy appetite. She had been awfully thin when he'd held her in the hospital. Luckily, a few days ago, she had emerged from the bathroom, happily announcing that she fitted into her trousers again without having to use a belt. It had brought a wide smile to both their faces.

"Booth, it was a joke. Stop bothering me and let me eat."

"Whatever you w— oh my God!" his eyes turned big as he suddenly realised something. Something which, judging from his expression, was sort of important.

"What's wrong?"

"I—completely forgot to tell you—to ask you—"

She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to figure out what he was trying to say.

"I'm supposed to have Parker this weekend," Booth confessed. "Should I call Rebecca?"

"Why would you call her?"

"Well obviously I can't ask you to take care of him, too—"

"Booth, don't be ridiculous. Of course Parker can come. I would never take away your time with your son, you know that," she scolded him.

"Really?" He looked like a child whose parents had just promised him the toy he always wanted.

"Yes, Booth. Really. Will Rebecca bring him or do I have to pick him up?"

"She usually drops him off after school. He'll be here around three."

"Tomorrow I suppose."

"Yes, Friday. You rock, Bones, you know that?"

"I don't rock," she said, puzzled.

"It means you're my favourite person today."

"Oh. Thanks then."

She quickly moved her mug to her mouth, hoping to cover her flushed cheeks. She didn't blush easily, usually. She had when her first boyfriend had told her how beautiful she was; when her favourite foster parents congratulated her on her success at school; when she was given the official document making her a forensic anthropologist; and maybe when she received the phone call telling her that her first book was a bestseller, too.

So why was that never in her life had she been blushing as much as lately?

* * *

He was eager to see how she'd react when she realised that she was trapped—again. He wondered how long he'd be able to wait. He was already so glad for the mix of panic and understanding which her eyes would fill with.

It would be like the last time, but so much better. Because this time, the evidence would already be in his hands. She wouldn't be a bargaining counter but his prey. There wouldn't really be other people in the game. Only two protagonists. Only him and her. It wouldn't be blackmail anymore. Merely revenge.

* * *

"Hi there," a cheerful voice greeted her. "Almost weekend, right? Have any plans?"

_Oh please no. One more hour and I'd have been gone. _Heaving an annoyed sigh, Brennan slowly turned around and faced the man who had become her living nightmare.

"What do you want, Leo? I thought we'd agreed you call before you come here so I can have you out as quickly as possible."

Hostilities from her side weren't subtle anymore, not after the incident in front of the interrogation room. She had wanted to go in to question Randolph Kiernan, but then Cummings had roughly grabbed her arm and pulled her back into the hallway. He had hissed that he didn't want her present anywhere but behind the glass. She had winced at his grip and saw no other way out than to punch him in the face.

She had watched with satisfaction as he'd doubled up and clasped his mouth, groaning in pain. He'd growled something like "Fucking bitch". Even though she had anticipated a reaction as such from him, she'd been startled by his words for they were filled with more than anger. The violence of the formulation, the subjacent threat of his tone had destabilised her for a moment. But more than his words, what she had seen in his eyes had woken some kind of terror in her. During a couple of seconds, she thought that he would attack her again, but he had merely thrown her a deadly glare before entering the interrogation room, slamming the door shut behind him. That was when she had realised that, for a reason she didn't or didn't want to understand, she had been holding her breath.

Now, he had to walk around with a purple chin, and she just loved reminding him of the humiliation caused by his ridiculous appearance.

Cummings shrugged in front of her, stepping so close to her that he had her body trapped between his and her desk.

"I just thought I'd surprise you."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. I know you like it."

"You know what I like most about you?"

"No but I'm eager to hear it."

"Your chin," she smiled innocently, knowing this would hurt his masculinity.

Indeed, he frowned and backed away from her. She had won the first round, today. Angela could be proud.

"You're a tease, Doctor Brennan," he said with a pained sigh.

"What did you come here for?" she repeated in a cold voice.

"I need to take a look at the evidence. Where can I find it?"

"You've seen the gun yesterday."

"I haven't seen Delaney's DNA."

She laughed at him. "Neither have I; it's too small."

Cumming's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Don't play this little game with me or you'll be sorry. All I'm asking for is to see where the evidence is stored so I can check if it's according to protocol. I'm not losing this case over allegedly tampered evidence."

"Fine," she surrendered, but only because she wanted to. "It's in the basement. Follow me—" She started walking, then stopped and turned to him. "–but keep your distance," she added, narrowing her eyes in a threatening glare.

"Or you could give me directions and I'll go there myself. I'm not a child; you don't have to hold my hand or anything."

"And I certainly won't. For the same reasons as you, I'm not leaving you alone with the evidence. Now stop whining and follow me," she commanded and stalked out of her office, making sure she walked so fast he had trouble keeping up with her.

"So what can go wrong?" Cummings inquired as he jogged down the stairs after the Forensic Anthropologist, sort of liking how she kept challenging him, trying to annoy him.

"What do you mean?" she retorted exasperatedly.

"How would someone be able to destroy the evidence? I mean, you think this guy knows his fair share about forensics, don't you? I just wanna make sure he will never have the chance to try anything."

She frowned. Was he really that stupid? "And… what makes you think this lab isn't secure, exactly? We've had more crooks who knew a lot about forensics, they never succeeded in anything."

"Okay forget it. Just show me where it is all right?"

Wow. She'd managed to piss him off for the second time that day. As she chuckled quietly to herself, they reached the first barrier to get to the stored evidence. Five minutes later, Brennan was holding the DNA sample in her hand, showing it to Cummings before attempting to put it back in the huge freezer.

"Hey!" She called out indignantly when he snatched it from her. "Be careful, it's evidence. You idiot," she added under her breath before snatching the sample back and quickly placing it back inside the freezer.

"Thank you, Nadia," she said to the woman who had accompanied them, following protocol.

"You're welcome, Doctor Brennan," she replied politely before leading them back to the staircase.

Again, Brennan jogged up the stairs swiftly, but was suddenly stopped by Cumming's call.

"What?" she asked, turning around and looking down upon him as he caught up with her.

"Earlier, in your office, I was serious about surprising you."

Rolling her eyes, she sighed, "You've told me this already."

"No, wait! You haven't given me the chance to say anything."

"Say it quickly then. I have work to do."

"You and I… God this is exciting," he started with a broad grin, "I've arranged an undercover mission for the two of us. In two weeks' time, we'll be entering the drugs circuit. As lovers! Isn't it romantic?"

Brennan's mouth fell open and she stared at him disbelievingly.

"You're kidding, right?" she asked hopeful, placing a hand on her hip.

"Not at all. And Cullen already agreed. He's a wise man. I think he's starting to like me, even."

Too taken-aback to retort, Brennan shot him a furious glare and ran up the stairs, rounded the platform and jogged up the stairs to her office, where she threw the door closed. The bastard had kept the news for later on purpose. Because he knew that it would piss her off even more. He had let her believe she had won when all this time he had been putting her on.

She began pacing up and down, her hand pressed to her forehead. Going undercover with Cummings... She felt the need to punch something or somebody. This was far beyond her. She took a deep breath to try to calm down the violent anger that knotted her stomach. And there was Booth; he needed her. She felt anger turning into discouragement. If she asked Cullen to find someone else, he'd want to know why, and she couldn't betray Booth. She felt a lump forming in her throat. She had no idea who to turn to for help. She was alone with this. She pressed her hands to her mouth, muffling a sob. The day had started out quite good, for once. And now, everything was going wrong. As she flopped down on her couch, she caught herself wondering what she had possibly done to deserve this. She let her face fall in her hands, unable to hold back her tears any longer. This was becoming too much. Way too much.

* * *

He hadn't taken his car, this day. He had felt like walking. Plus he had some shopping to do in the centre. Realising that he was smiling, he immediately corrected his expression. He didn't want people to look at him as if he were a weirdo.

He stopped suddenly and, lost in his thoughts, he lingered in front of a shop window. He wondered how long she'd resist. He wondered how long he'd let her resist. He wondered if she'd end up begging. She didn't seem this kind of woman, but who knew?

* * *

"Bones, I'm sorry; I dropped the remote control. Could you please get it for me?"

Brennan appeared in the doorway and shot Booth a disapproving glance.

"Too heavy for you, G-man?" she mocked him nicely, then proceeded to pick up the remote and placed it in his hands. He was lying in his bed, on top of the covers, watching TV while she was preparing dinner. Ordinary evening. Except this night, she was feeling especially on edge and doing her best to hide it made it but worse.

"Apparently. Sorry." Booth shot her a sheepish smile. Staring at him, she abruptly felt better and she caught herself smiling back. He had held on for her. Now she was holding on for him. And he helped her to. When she felt she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, each one of his gazes, of his smiles, made her stronger.

"Must be my hands are tired from doing all the paperwork Cullen set me up with," he added teasingly.

"At least you're allowed to work again."

"Yeah. That's right," he said as he studied her. Ever since she'd come in tonight, he sensed something was bothering her. He had been about to ask her several times, but it had never felt like the right time. He knew her well enough to know that she wasn't planning on telling him yet. When she caught his gaze, her eyes widened a bit and she quickly returned to the kitchen. He kept staring at the doorframe, wondering whether it was a good idea to go talk to her, or not. He was about to join her when she called him from the kitchen.

"What's up Bones?"

She popped her head around the corner. "Would you mind getting me some butter from the groceries store? I've just realised that we don't have any left, and I really can't abandon my pans right now."

He looked at her, slightly shocked. "Bones, I—I would love to do that for you, but—I'd have to, you know, go outside—in my chair—"

"Booth, please," she insisted. "One day or another, you'll have to go out." He made a face and she sighed. "C'mon, the grocery store is just around the corner."

"Bones, you know you can ask me anything but this, please—just—not this. I mean, we can do without butter for tonight, can't we?"

Brennan felt a wave of uncontrollable anger surfacing.

"You know what, Booth? I'm tired. I'm tired of you never giving up on your damned pride, tired of this ass I'm obliged to work with all day, tired of EVERYTHING," she shouted and disappeared from his view.

"Temperance! Come back, please! Talk to me!" When he got no answer, he expected to hear a door being slammed shut, but the noise never came. God, he had never been good at this. "It's not the groceries, is it? It's Cummings, right? What did he do to you? Damn it, get back here!" In spite of himself, he began to feel annoyed by her silence. "You know, you're hurting my feelings by walking away. If I would be able to walk I'd have followed you. You know that. But I can't. I can't walk now and I might never walk again. Now I don't like people looking down on me; in fact it's the one of the most degrading things I can think of, but you know what? Out of sheer respect and gratitude to you I'll try to get past that."

Silence lingered in the room as he waited for a reaction. Having voiced his concerns regarding his own condition, he actually felt quite relieved. Then she appeared in the doorway again and he realised she had probably been standing there the whole time. She had never walked away from him.

She entered the room and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"And beside my own condition, Bones, I really think you should talk to Cullen about this Cummings. He bruised your arm, and taking everything else into account, that's sexual harassment."

"I don't need Cullen's help. I can deal with him."

"That's the wrong attitude, Bones. The law says you don't _have _to deal with him. He ought to just back off and leave you alone. Be a professional."

"Booth—I can't do that. He's too important for the case. He knows these drugs people and his experience might be of great value. I understand your concern and really, it's not like I enjoy his comments, but I strongly feel that getting a killer is more important than my temporary problem."

Booth nodded slowly in understanding, although he still wasn't fine with the situation. Yet he had to trust that she would kick the bastard's ass if he crossed another line. After all, she had told him he looked worse. This woman and her damned logic sometimes… But he would have felt the same way. Part of him did feel the same way. He wanted the man who had kept and hurt his Bones to suffer, and he knew she wanted the man who had paralysed him in jail.

"All right. You know what; you're right."

She let a shaky breath escape and relaxed her arms, which had been tightly pressed against her body during the conversation. She hadn't thought it would be this easy to convince Booth, she'd figured he would insist on his 'duty' to protect her a little while longer. Suddenly the memory of that afternoon came forward, and she took this as a sign that this was probably the best of all the wrong moments to bring it up.

She tiredly leaned against the wall, tilting her head back and staring at the ceiling.

"You know, today… tonight… when I was getting ready to clean up, he was suddenly there. He wanted to see the evidence." She paused and he waited patiently for her to continue. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, hesitating, before deciding that she might as well tell him everything now. "And then he told me we'll be going undercover in two weeks."

He shook his head confusedly. "What are you sorry for?"

She shrugged and all he wanted at this moment was to be able to hold her, to lift some weight off her small shoulders. "Just… everything that's happening to you. To us. It's not fair. And all of it has to do with me."

"Hey," he said softly, his way to gently demand her attention and probably invite her to bear her soul — which she would often end up doing but only partially. Whatever his intention, to her it meant a reassurance that she should trust him with whatever was bothering her. What she liked about this was that it was still her choice to speak up. She didn't have to but she knew she could. He just made it easier for her to actually consider it. So her shoulders slumped in defeat and she dragged her tired feet to the bed.

She normally would never have done this; but she felt so tired and so fed-up with everything that she completely didn't care. Kicking off her boots, she sat on the other side of his bed and pulled her legs onto it, then scooted over towards Booth's body.

"Come here," he told her, glad to see that she was already working on it. He stretched out his arm to her and she was happy to rest her exhausted body against his warm chest. Wrapping his arm tightly around her so she could barely move but was safely secured against him, he pulled her even closer and then buried his nose in her soft, auburn curls.

"I thank you for doing all this, Bones. I wish I knew a way to make you believe that nothing is your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. You never did, okay? Why do you always have to be so hard on yourself, huh?" he murmured comfortingly and thought he heard a faint sniff from under him.

He knew this would only last until she realised what she was doing and then she'd jump up and stammer some excuse about having to go. To get out of his arms, out of the room, away from what had occurred. Funny, how she claimed to care about nothing but the truth yet tried to evade it when it became personal.

"Booth? I— I just want you to know that I…"

"It's okay, Bones, really. You don't have to say anything."

"I just wanted to say thank you for being my friend, that's all."

She lay perfectly still against him; at last she wasn't pacing up and down or fidgeting nervously, and this told Booth more than her subtle hesitation before she thanked him for being her friend. Since he couldn't come up with an answer which didn't sound stupid like 'you're welcome' or 'I thank you as well', he merely closed his other arm around her too and made her a promise to be there when she needed him, but only in his mind, for now.

"Oh! The chicken!" she suddenly exclaimed and jumped up as though burned, heading for the kitchen and making a run for it.

He watched her disappear in the corridor and he let out a sigh. Yep, there she did it again.

* * *

_**A/N: Now hold your horses because in the next chapter, Booth tries to help Brennan with the Cummings situation. Next chapter's also longer than the previous ones by the way (how lucky are you!!). Still like our story? Please leave us a review, it will make our day!**_


	11. More than you think

_**A/N: Aaaaaaand it's Sunday! We'll describe Cummings' physical appearance in this chapter. The reviews for last chapter were overwhelming, thank you all so much. We hope you'll enjoy this chapter, it's a longer one and you'll see why we had so much fun writing it!**_

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**Chapter 11 – More than you think**

She dreaded the moment when the security agent would call her and pronounce his name. She dreaded the moment when he'd appear on the doorstep of her office. She could already see the mocking smile on his face, hear his sarcastic comments, and it made her sick. His entire appearance made her sick; the blond hair that reached his cheeks and looked like it had been carefully washed with women's natural gloss shampoo, his forced casual attitude, his slick movements. Above all these piercing green eyes which always seemed to gleam with some sort of disdain whenever he talked to people who weren't his boss. Oh, those eyes… That _look_… Brennan huffed. She had to work on this, or the undercover work would be absolute hell. And she didn't want that, did she? She knew that she had to get a grip on herself if she wanted to close the case quickly. She'd bear him and his stupid little game so that she'd be done with it. So that she could catch the bastard who had been playing with her boundaries during two weeks. So that she could get rid of Cummings. So that she could go back to Booth.

----------

"See you, Derek!"

Booth closed the door behind the nurse and wheeled back to the living room, where he held still beside the telephone. He had thought of several ways to say and ask what he wanted to, but none seemed appropriate. He was probably going to be barked at, eventually, but never mind. He had to do it, he couldn't wait any more.

"_Cullen."_

"Sir, this is Booth."

"_Booth! Good to hear from you. How's the recovery going?"_

Cullen's voice never ceased to surprise him. Never had he been so friendly since Booth had been stuck at home. If he hadn't known his boss as well as he did, he would have believed that Cullen actually missed him.

"Oh, I guess I can't complain; I am able to move my left leg, now we're hoping for my right one to get the same idea."

"_We?"_

"Uhm, yes. My nurse, my son, I— Anyway, Bo— Doctor Brennan told me you're sending her undercover with her temporary partner. With all due respect, Sir, are you sure that's a good idea?" The silence Cullen gave him wasn't a good sign. "I mean, while I was still on the case we both walked through that neighbourhood a lot, and we questioned these people. They will know who she is the minute she arrives and Cummings' cover will be blown, putting them both in danger."

Cullen laughed, but as he knew fairly well that he hadn't said anything funny, Booth thought that it was definitely not a good sign.

"_Do you take me for a fool, Agent Booth? We've arranged a disguise for Doctor Brennan. Change of dress, different hair-colour, you know the drill. She won't be exposed to any more than the inevitable danger. Besides, Cummings has done undercover work before. He knows these people, they already trust him."_

"How is he going to explain his absence?"

"_That's what we need Doctor Brennan for. She'll be acting as 'Greg Furgenson's' girlfriend, with whom he's been spending all this time."_

"How do we know we can you trust him?" Booth bit his lower lip. This time, he had gone too far, and he knew it. He closed his eyes, awaiting his boss' reaction, but it seemed as if Cullen, like most people, was more patient and nice with handicapped people than he usually was. A realisation which reassured him, and annoyed him, at the same time.

"_Who— Cummings? 'We' don't have to trust him, Booth; I do," _Cullen retorted in a calm but firm voice._ "Besides, I don't have much of a choice here. We need to get someone undercover quickly and Cummings's cover is still intact. He has these people's trust. He'll ensure Doctor Brennan's security. I gave him precise instructions. There's nothing to suggest he won't follow them."_

Booth sighed in defeat. There was plenty to suggest he wouldn't. What if he tried to hurt her because she was in his way or something, or made a false move? What if these sexual innuendos of him turned into assault? But no, Bones wouldn't let that happen. She'd kick his balls right up to his stomach if he dared touch her inappropriately.

It seemed like there was nothing he could do to prevent this undercover thing from happening, after all. Nor could he explain Cullen why he ought _not_ to trust Cummings because Bones never filed a complaint. It would only put her in a difficult position and that wasn't something she needed right now. Not on top of everything else. Not with the risk of Cullen simply telling her to ignore Cumming's behaviour.

"Okay, Sir, I understand. One last thing though: Why was Cummings fired from Narcotics?"

"_What are you doing, investigating him? I don't need to tell you this."_

Booth sighed inwardly. He had been expecting this kind of answer, but he had had to ask.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I guess I'm just a little worried about my partner. She's under enough stress already and we shouldn't forget that she was held hostage and traumatised for two weeks, not so long ago. I don't want her to have to endure any more."

"_I understand your concern, Booth. Unfortunately this might be crucial to the case so I have to send her. She has a trained eye for forensic evidence and where to find it whereas Cumming's a rookie in our department. What's more, I haven't received a call from her telling me she refuses the assignment. My hands are pretty much tied, but once this case is finished I'll offer her the help of our best counsellors."_

"Thank you, Sir. That's very generous." Not that she'll accept any help from a trained psychologist…

"_Just focus on your recovery. That's an order. I can't afford to lose you."_

"I will. Have a good day, Sir."

After he hung up, Booth kept staring at the phone for a long moment. He had had to call, even though he had known the answer before he dialled Cullen's number. He had had to try, even if the result was the same. But there was something else he wanted to do for her. Something that he had been thinking about during the past days—thinking about it, the last weeks would be closer to the truth. He could have called to have it and be delivered at home, and it would have been much easier for him. But then, the gesture wouldn't mean the same.

That's why he grabbed his sweater, swallowed his pride, and went out of the house.

----------

When she pushed the door open and entered, what struck her first was the delicious floral smell that seemed to fill the house. Then, it was Booth, a childish, excited grin on his face, who looked like he had been waiting impatiently for her to return. And eventually, she noticed them on the counter, in a beautiful blue vase. Fragrant, as she liked them. Yellow in the centre with white exterior petals, as she preferred them. Daffodils. Her favourite flowers.

Suddenly, all the stress of her day, all the dread of the week to come, was forgotten, and a wonderful smile spread across her lips that brightened her tired features. She let her gaze leave the bunch and turned it to Booth. "That's very nice of you, Booth, that's—How did you know?"

"I know you better than you think, Bones," he replied with an enigmatic look in his eyes.

"You called Angela, right?"

He chuckled. "No, I didn't. Is it so hard to face that I know you well?"

"No, I mean—I just don't quite understand how you can possibly know that."

"Is it that important?" he shrugged.

Her smile grew wider as she shook her head. "No. Thank you, Booth." She let her purse drop to the floor before getting rid of her coat and shoes. She stepped towards the counter to examine the flowers more closely. "They are beautiful," she said after breathing in their fragrance. "You gotta give me the name of your florist."

"The card is on the counter."

Indeed, she found it and took it in her hand to read it.

"They don't specify that they make deliveries, but okay, I'll—"

"Well, they don't."

"What do you mean, they don't?" Brennan asked, surprised. "Did you send Derek to buy these? You're impossible! He's a nurse, not an errand boy," she said with a reproachful tone.

"I did not send Derek or anyone else. I went there by myself," he declared with pride.

She seemed suddenly shocked and stared at him with wide eyes and her mouth half-open. "You went out?" she finally managed to utter.

He confirmed this with a simple nod.

"By yourself?"

Another nod.

"Oh— Wow— I— That's great Booth, I'm proud of you, I— I'm just surprised because yesterday, you—"

"Ah, you know, this is sort of my way of apologising for what happened yesterday."

Her arms dropped to each side of her body and she sighed. "You didn't need to do all this, Booth. I know what you're going through."

"And I know what _you_'re going through."

She nodded. "I guess that makes us quite a pathetic couple, then."

Booth snorted. "Couple, Bones?" he asked with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes and a smirk on his face.

Giving him her exasperated roll-of-the-eyes, she replied, "Not that kind of couple of course. You know what I mean, stop teasing me."

The sound of the doorbell ringing interrupted their conversation and Brennan hurried to the door.

"That must be Parker and Rebecca," she announced over her shoulder with a smile. Behind her, Booth swallowed. This was going to be the first time his ex-wife and son would see him in his wheelchair. He wondered how they would react. Well, Rebecca would probably be the first to wipe the pity-look off her face. But Parker… he wasn't sure what he'd do. Knowing him, he'd either be afraid and hide behind his mother or would jump straight onto his lap as though nothing had changed.

"Hey Bones," Booth heard the little boy cheerily greet his partner. He wondered how she would react to being called by her nickname by his son. Would she feel annoyed or would she smile?

"Hello Parker, Rebecca," he heard his partner reply politely. Then the door closed and Parker came darting into the living room.

"Hey bud," Booth greeted his son, still dreading his reaction upon seeing him in a wheelchair.

"DADDY!" the six-year-old exclaimed and ran towards his father, then dived onto his lap, hugging him tightly. His apprehension now disappeared, Booth hugged him back just as hard, once again incredibly thankful for this little miracle that was his son and the happiness he brought him.

"Honey, be careful with your Daddy. He's hurt, remember?" Rebecca cut in softly.

"Did I hurt you, Daddy?" The boy looked up into his father's face, questioningly.

"Naw, bud. Your Daddy can handle a little boy like you."

"I'm not little," Parker pointed out indignantly. "Why do you keep teasing me by saying that? I don't tell you you're little because you're in a wheelchair."

"Honey, that's enough. Don't hurt your father's feelings," Rebecca quietly scolded her son.

"It's all right, Rebecca, don't worry. Parker's right. We shouldn't tease each other with being little, should we?"

Parker shook his head fervently, sending the blond locks to dance around his face as he did so.

"Well, I have his suitcase here. I suppose that with Doctor Brennan's help you two will be okay?" The last question was directed at Brennan, who had been watching the family interact from a slight distance; she never meant to intrude on anything.

"They'll be fine," she confirmed.

"Good. Well then, I have to run. Meeting at five," Rebecca quickly explained. "Good luck Seeley," she said before turning to her son. "Behave yourself, darling," she told Parker and gave him a hug and then a kiss. "Doctor Brennan," she nodded towards the forensic anthropologist and shook her hand, "May you still be alive after three days with these two."

"I will," Brennan assured her and led her to the door. After she closed it, she turned around and met her partner's expectant gaze. Was she supposed to say something now?

"She seems like a good mother," she awkwardly stated.

"I have the bestest mommy in the world!" Parker smiled, still comfortably cuddled up with his father. "And you, Bones, do you have a great mom, too?"

Booth's eyes widened and he looked at her apologetically, but she slightly shook her head to let him know it was okay.

"Yes, Parker, my mother was very sweet. I loved her very much."

"Why 'loved'? Don't you love her anymore?"

"Uhm, well the truth is— is that she's— an angel now," she quickly corrected herself when noticing Booth's pleading expression. Even though she didn't agree with him that kids shouldn't always know the truth and needed to be lied to supposedly for their own sakes, she respected his way of raising his son and didn't argue.

"Oh," Parker's nose wrinkled as he thought about this for a second. "I guess being an angel is very good, but I'd like my mommy to live with me."

"Of course," Brennan answered in a slightly small voice and met Booth's gaze momentarily, requesting him to take over the conversation now. Somehow this family stuff always left her feeling out-of-place and lonely, like she didn't have the right to engage.

"Are you thirsty, bud? How about a drink?" Booth quickly suggested.

"Apple juice!" Parker stated with satisfaction.

"But we don't have—" Brennan began, then saw Booth closing his eyes and shaking his head.

"Just look inside the fridge, Bones."

She did and found there, indeed, a pack of apple juice.

"You went to the groceries store as well?" she asked disbelievingly while filling a glass for Parker and then another one for Booth. "I must say that surprises me. I thought you'd be way too stubborn for that."

"I prefer my surrender to your wrath," he replied while gratefully taking the glass with juice from her. "Thanks."

"Thank you, Bones," Parker said quickly, like a boy who got taught his manners from an early age, and started gulping down the liquid. "Did Daddy buy you those flowers?" he inquired innocently upon noticing the blue vase of daffodils.

"Why would you think that?" she smiled.

"Oh because Daddy never buys flowers except for ladies."

"Good reasoning. He did buy me these."

"Did you say 'thank you'?"

"Of course."

"Did you give him a hug? It's a big present, then you're supposed to give people a hug to say a bigger thank-you."

"I wanted to, but the doorbell interrupted me."

"Who was at the door?"

"You."

"Haha, I knew that!"

Brennan laughed at the child's silliness and watched him finish his glass with a tender look which Booth didn't miss noticing. He knew his son was adorable–hell, he made new friends every time they went to the playground, but that he was capable of softening Bones this way, he couldn't have wished for.

Then, Parker jumped off his father's lap and gazed up at her. "Now you can hug him," he announced matter-of-factly and proceeded towards the counter to place his empty glass in the sink.

As if it was exactly what he was waiting for, Booth opened his arms to Brennan and grinned. The humour and, more importantly, the inevitability of the situation prompted her to bend forward and embrace her partner as he softly patted her back.

"Like this, Parker?"

"Yes, that's very good," the boy approved and watched as his dad and Bones moved apart again to let him regain his seat.

------------

She had just got into bed and let herself fall into a drowsy slumber when the door to her room opened. Although she knew it couldn't be _him_, her heart skipped a beat and she was holding her breath, subconsciously. She lay there in the dark and waited for what was to come.

"Bones?" a little voice sounded from the centre of the room, and then she heard a sniff.

"Parker. What's wrong?" she asked as she sat up and switched on the lamp on her nightstand. The form of the little boy was now illuminated and she couldn't keep herself from thinking how adorable she thought he looked in his blue pyjamas, his blond hair slightly ruffled, on his bare feet with tiny toes and his hands hanging limply beside his little body. Then she noticed his shoulders shook slightly and he sniffed some more.

"My daddy's so different when he's sitting in his wheelchair," he sobbed and rubbed his eyes with his little fist, the sight nearly breaking Brennan's heart, so she threw back the covers and swung her legs over the bedside, getting to her—also bare—feet.

She sank to her knees in front of him and opened her arms. Parker needed no further encouragement and flung his arms around her neck, burying his face in her neck as well while she held him tightly. Brennan vaguely remembered her mother comforting her like this, on her level, when she was a child Parker's age.

"Your daddy is going to be fine, Parker. He's going to be just like before," she comforted him as she stroked his hair, wondering where the idea for this action had come from. She wasn't at all used to communicating with children and frankly hadn't a clue as to what she ought to do, exactly. Yet this just felt right and she knew that children needed physical comfort.

"But I am so worried!" he cried.

"I know. I am too, sometimes. How can I make you feel better? Do you want a glass of milk? Or should I read you a story?" Brennan pulled back and took the boy's face between her hands, gently wiping away some big tears that rolled down his soft cheeks.

She'd seen Booth do the same that afternoon when Parker was playing in the backyard and tripped and hurt his knee. He'd come back inside with tear-stained red cheeks and his scarf and winter-jacket made him look like a little elf. While he'd sat on Booth's lap, Brennan had cleaned the abrasion on Parker's knee and refused to put a band-aid over it, for, she told him, it was best to let the tiny scrapes close to the air and then he'd be fine. Since she was a doctor, Parker had been okay with this.

During the day, Booth and Parker had played with army toys at the dinner table and invited Brennan to join them in a game of Rummikub, a European game which Brennan easily won time after time.

"_Bones, this is not how you play games with kids!" Booth eventually scolded her._

"_But—my father never let me win when I was little," Brennan stated innocently._

"_But this one does," he whispered tellingly and received a nod from her that she understood._

After letting him win a few games, Parker had immediately warmed up to her and started telling her about school and his mom and mommy's boyfriend and how much he liked the zoo and dangerous animals and more that Brennan couldn't remember precisely. As they had watched TV, Parker suddenly decided to sit on her lap and stayed that way for a long time, leaving Brennan surprised, but not entirely uncomfortable.

She had noticed, however, that as it became clear how many things Booth couldn't do himself from his chair, the little boy observed his father with some kind of shock in his brown eyes.

"I w—want to sleep with—with Daddy," Parker hiccupped and Brennan smiled.

"All right. Let's go ask him then, shall we?"

She stood up and attempted to leave her room, but Parker stayed put in front of her and raised his arms, indicating he wanted to be carried. Without any further hesitation, Brennan picked up the little boy and sat him on her hip as he rested his head on her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her.

The warmth from his bed still lingered on him and he felt warm against her. As she quietly moved through the house, Parker yawned a couple of times and for reasons she did not, and probably would never understand, she suddenly felt the urge to stop there, in the living room, by the window through which moonlight pooled on the cool floor, with the child in her arms, and enjoy the feeling. She was very aware of the sound of his breathing and the beating of his little heart so close to hers and wanted to pull the boy a bit closer, as if to protect him from danger she couldn't point out. Closing her eyes, she brushed her nose against the soft, delicate skin of his temple, before relishing in the soothing smell of his silky blond hair. Somehow, it felt like holding this child in her arms could chase any terrifying thoughts from her mind, clean her body of any dirty or painful remnants.

She opened her eyes abruptly, feeling suddenly like she was stealing Booth's family from him and swiftly continued her way towards his bedroom.

She opened it a crack and peeked around the corner, her eyes settling upon the figure under the covers.

"Booth?" she called softly and Parker lifted his head off her shoulder so he could watch.

"Daddy, wake up please!"

The bump on the bed stirred and Booth grudgingly opened his eyes, noticing his partner and his son in the doorway, marvelling at the view of Parker comfortably settled in her arms.

"Booth, Parker wishes to sleep with you tonight," she explained.

"Oh," he uttered in a sleepy voice as his gaze was fixed on his partner's face. Somehow she looked like an angelic version of herself. The moonlight caught her eyes, making it seem as though they emitted a crystalline blue colour. Her pale skin contrasted starkly with her dark hair. Would she ever see herself as he did? She was so beautiful it was soothing.

"Can I, Daddy?" Parker brought him out of his trance.

"Of course you can, bud. Come over here," Booth motioned towards the empty half of the bed next to him and pulled away the covers. Brennan stepped inside now, Parker still settled on her hip, and gently lowered the boy onto the mattress. Parker immediately snuggled up against his father and closed his eyes as Brennan tucked the both of them in, then attempted to leave quietly.

"Wait! Aren't you going to sleep with us, Bones?" Parker sat up straight and his eyes were pleading her to stay.

"No, sweetie, I'm going back to my own room," she told him with a smile.

"Oh," he said with disappointment, "Will you give Daddy and me a goodnight kiss so we won't have nightmares?"

"Sure, Parker," she smiled and rounded the bed, then bent over to meet the boy's soft lips in a quick kiss. "Goodnight, Booth," she whispered to her partner, who, obviously, had already fallen asleep again. After a short hesitation, she pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. She wasn't going to disappoint the kid, was she?

"Goodnight Bones!" Parker whispered as she tiptoed out of the room and closed the door behind her. She made her way back to her room and snuggled up under the covers. When she fell asleep, for the first time since several days, there was a smile on her face. And the same smile was playing on Booth's mouth, for holding his sleeping son in his arms and relishing in the lingering feeling of his partner's lips on his forehead was better than a dream.

------------

He couldn't sleep. He couldn't even keep his eyes closed. Two days, and he'd have her in his power. He shifted onto his side, trying to find a more comfortable position. But his mind was too busy counting the hours left. He needed rest, but he couldn't help doing this.

He scolded himself silently. He was too excited, and it was no good. He couldn't afford to do it in a rush. He couldn't afford to do it badly.

He wondered what she was thinking about, at this very moment. He wondered if she was thinking of him. Maybe was she already asleep and dreaming of him—a nightmare in which he was the hero. Later, she'd wake up and wipe the sweat off her brow, still shaking. Or maybe she thought she was safe now. Maybe she thought it was over. The bitch.

Again, he shifted, to lie on his back, this time. Some more days and it would actually be over. But, hopefully, not in the way she expected it to.

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_**A/N: First of all, we hope Parker was natural, we don't want to use him as an 'instrument' to get our favourite non-couple to hug you see. But what's a story set at Booth's without that cute little boy, right? Catherine's got quite a lot of writing done during her vacation and we can assure you, it'll be suspenseful… As for the next chapter, it starts out rather sad and contains some humouring of Cummings. Have a good week everyone!**_


	12. One way or another

_**A/N: Well, it's Sunday again, so that means update day! For the first part of this chapter, we advise you to listen to the song 'Everytime We Say Goodbye'. It conveys the right mood. Also, of course, thank you all again for dropping us a line (or a lot of lines)! We seem to grow taller with every review we get and we've been told to 'wipe that grin off your face already', because your comments make us so happy.**_

_**Good reading!**_

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**Chapter 12 –**** One way or another**

He stared, satisfied, at the weapons and extra cartridges lined up on the table. It took time to prepare this stuff, time to make sure that everything was fine, that he hadn't forgotten anything. It took time to get revenge, too. And because of this, his patience was put to the test. Sometimes, he wished he could just go to her place and kill her. Make her beg, a knife under her neck. Make her moan in terror, make her scream in pain. Watch thin tendrils of blood disappear into her cleavage as he cut her slowly. Or feel her blood soaking his clothes as he cut her deeply. Several times, he had been about to surprise her in the parking lot of the Jeffersonian, or else, in the dark, always empty stairwell of the building she lived in. But he had always managed to hold himself back. He had to. So he found something to occupy his mind, something to relieve him of this tension that wasted him. Most of time, it worked. But the dreams were the worst. He could never get rid of them. She haunted his nights, made his days a living hell. He wished this could stop. Merely thinking about it made his blood boil and his fists clench until his nails dug in his palms and his fingers became white. Just like now.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. It wasn't the right time yet, he knew it. He had only once chance. He didn't want to regret having wasted it, later. He wanted to make this right. One way or another, he had to.

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With a sigh, she closed her second and last suitcase and let her long, slender fingers linger on its surface for a moment. She had packed these so many times already, yet she couldn't remember ever having experienced the accompanying mood to be so sad. She glanced around in what had been her room, her territory, her space ever since Booth had saved her. It looked impersonal now, without her pictures and souvenirs on the nightstand and lining the shelves.

She stood up and closed the doors of the wardrobe, locking the emptiness inside. The covers had been removed from her- no, _the_ bed and the rug was vacuum cleaned. Rain drummed against the small window and she could see dark clouds rolling over Washington DC. How appropriate.

Carrying the suitcases into the living room, she met with the expectant yet also sad gazes of Booth and Parker, the latter sitting on his father's lap like he had almost all weekend. She tried to relieve some of the tension from the air by smiling at them.

"The guest room's clean," was all she could think of to say.

"Bones, do you _have_ to go, Bones?" asked Parker in a small voice, his lips pouting and his big brown eyes looking at her sadly. Those puppy eyes… It wasn't hard to tell where he got those from.

The evidence presented itself when she met Booth's gaze and she noticed a glint of despair in his chocolate depths.

"I'm sorry, Parker. I'm afraid I have no choice," she repeated what she'd been telling the little boy all morning while tying her scarf around her neck.

"Hey bud, why don't you go get Bones your present?" Booth suggested and gently pushed Parker off his lap, the boy running off to his bedroom to retrieve it.

Both partners quickly used the opportunity to say a personal goodbye, something they didn't feel comfortable doing in front of Parker.

"Booth…" she began as she took a step towards him and stopped in front of his chair. "I don't know how to— I—I'll miss you."

He took one of her hands and looked at it for a moment before gazing up at her and smiling softly.

"I'll miss you too, Bones. The house will be empty without you, but I'll live."

"Yeah? How?" she smiled teasingly.

"Well, for starters I'll be seeing Derek a lot more, that's pretty exciting. And Sid will start to make money off of me again because I'll have to get food at Wong Foo's."

For a moment, all they could hear were the raindrops tapping against the large windows of the living room. Outside, the garden furniture gleamed with wetness and the grass looked slippery, the impact of the raindrops creating mud spatters between the green. The weather was raging.

"You could try cooking something yourself," her soft voice broke the silence that shrouded them.

"Yes, but after having enjoyed _your_ culinary talents for so long I've become spoiled, you see. Now, it's Bones food or Sid food. Or no food."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Ah, just a little," he admitted and let go of her hand after placing it back beside her body.

"You make me feel guilty about leaving, Booth," she admitted and said man all but drowned in the depths of her blue eyes. He was going to miss just looking at her.

_Please hold me one more time. Make me feel safe._

Her own thoughts startled her as well as the realisation that she hadn't been without Booth for longer than a few hours since her abduction. Either with Booth or at the Jeffersonian… Yes, this was going to be her first test at how she would handle being alone. Well, she never got a B, and she never would. She was going to go undercover with this jackass, solve the case and go back home. At last, go back home. But the word 'home' caused her mixed emotions now. Her apartment was home, but then, so had become Booth.

In the meantime, Booth cursed his inability to stand up straight so he could properly hold her and hug her goodbye.

Brennan sank to her knees beside his chair and gently, carefully, almost as if she was expecting him to pull it away, picked up his hand with both hers as her eyes locked with his. She held it and moulded her own hands to fit; a small, reassuring, yet nervous smile playing on her lips. She normally wouldn't have done this, but wasted by the anxiety of having to leave the only place and person that made her feel safe, made her seek for comfort while she could still have it;made her give in to the strange urge of needing him close to her, as close as possibleShe wanted to close her eyes but just didn't dare to. The warmth of his hand against her skin soothed her, and at the same time, it but increased the knot in her stomach. All of a sudden, she found herself on the verge of tears. She felt like a child on her first day at school, like a teenager leaving her parents for the first time to go live at the other side of the country. The strong, confident, independent woman was gone.

"Don't feel guilty, Bones," he said softly, bringing her back to reality. "You will solve this case, I know it. I know you."

"Is it your gut telling you that?" She hoped that the lump in her throat didn't betray her through her voice.

"Would that be a problem?"

She shrugged, and they became aware of little footsteps approaching, causing them to move apart as Parker walked up to Brennan with an outstretched hand in which he was holding a sheet of paper.

"I made you a drawing, Bones," he said with his big, innocent eyes and handed the sheet to her.

"Thank you Parker! It's really—" she stopped upon seeing what the child had drawn.She recognised Booth, Parker and herself all in Booth's bed, sleeping in each other's arms. Well, it was a mess of tangled up arms and hands but she was able to make out the image. "—really kind of you."

"I drew us all in Daddy's bed because the other night me and Daddy were sleeping together and you were alone in your own bed. And that's not fair because we're all family, right?" Parker pointed out.

"You're right; it's not fair," Booth agreed with his son, but only for his sake.

"It's very pretty, Parker,thank you. I'll make sure to take this with me and look at it every day, okay?" she said and proved her statement by carefully folding the sheet and putting it in her suitcase.

"Okay, Bones," the boy agreed and flung his arms around her neck as she was still crouched on the floor beside her suitcase. She wrapped her arms around his little torso and held him tightly for a moment, then pulled away and opened her mouth to say something.

"Are you going to tell me to be a good boy for my daddy? Because I will," he assured her while nodding his head. This made Brennan laugh.

"No, why would I say that? You've been good all weekend, why would you suddenly start giving your dad trouble? I trust that you'll help your father."

Parker happily turned his head to his father.

"Did you hear that, Daddy? Bones thinks I've been a good boy."

"Of course she does! You've been a great help to her, buddy. I'm very proud of you," Booth smiled.

Once again the rain was all they could hear as they both smiled at Parker's happy face.

"I should go now," Brennan hated to say it but she did and got to her feet, turning to get her coat.

"I wish you could stay a little while longer," Booth sighed quietly.

She stared at him whileshrugging her coat on and buttoning it up_Don't tempt me..._ He definitely wasn't helping.

"Me too, but I've got so many things left to do. Need to get my hair done and all… The Narcotics department arranged my disguise; they have a completely new wardrobe for me. It's pretty exciting, actually."

She smiled in spite of herself and the knot in her stomach tightenedas the moment of parting rapidly came closer.

It wasn't like they were never going to see each other again, she mocked herself.

Honking from outside announced her taxi had arrived and they would have to separate. From now on she'd be alone; these were the last moments with the man who had kept her safe, and his adorable son of course, who had drawn her a picture she would be cherishing for the time to come. How long would it be? How long before she could go back home- to either home?

Mentally kicking herself, she decided this was not her way of thinking. No, she would tend to the task at hand, put her heart and soul—or rather her mind in it, and return safely, knowing she'd never have to see Cummings again.

_Yes, take a deep breath, Temperance, you can do this._

Suddenly she wanted—needed—to get out of here, of her safe-house, away from Booth or she would never be able to.

"_Please_ take care of yourself out there," Booth begged her as she bent down to hug him and he held her to him tightly for a moment, closing his eyes to make sure he'd not forget her smell.

"Don't I ever?"

"Bye Bones!" Parker was next in line for a hug and he pressed a big kiss against her cheek, leaving his father, though unnoticeable, slightly jealous.

A last smile and she picked up her suitcases and opened the door, stepping into the rain, meeting the taxi driver as he swiftly helped her put her suitcases in the trunk. Then she got in and slammed the door shut, trying not to look back as the car brought her further and further away from**…** home.

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He was standing next to the coffee machine in the hall when he noticed the woman walking towards him. Nice. Black leather boots with high heels, long legs, mid-thigh length skirt, tight top, jacket with emphasis on the tiny waist… blond hair and brown eyes. Wonderful. What a catch.

"Hi there," he quickly intercepted her as she attempted to walk past him and gave a wide grin, trying to look casual as he flipped back his jacket to put his hand on his hip and grabbed his Styrofoam cup of coffee.

The woman merely looked at him, but at least she'd stopped.

"Are you new here? I've never seen you before," he took the initiative to start a conversation. Her brown eyes regarded him strangely, as if she was confused.

"…No. Are you?" she returned the question.

He loved the way her lips moved, the red lipstick contrasting with her fair skin. "I just transferred here from Narcotics. Been undercover and all."

"Oh."

This didn't seem to have impressed her much. Damn, what was it with this woman? He decided to take it up a notch.

"Actually I'm just about to go under again. Yeah, it's quite dangerous. I'm going as a big man in the drugs world, you know. With this hot chick as my girlfriend. She's not nearly as stunning as you, though," he tried to flatter her.

"I'm sorry. I'm on my way to someone. Good luck with your assignment; don't mess it up," she gave him the slightest smile, though it seemed more to herself than to him, and walked past him. He turned around to follow her and for a moment his eyes lingered on her backside. Ah, such a pity she got a stick up her fine ass…

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"How far is Cummings allowed to go, exactly?" Brennan crossed her arms in front of her chest and maintained Cullen's gaze as he sat behind his desk and folded his hands.

"I have to be honest with youDoctor Brennan. During such a complex mission, there are no rules. Of course, he's not allowed to touch you inappropriately when it's not crucial to maintaining your cover. Otherwise, I'd say act like couples do. Nothing too eye-catching but don't be afraid to get into character if necessary. That all right?"

"Yeah. Sure. I know what we're there to do. Solve this case already."

"That would be nice, Doctor Brennan. And may I say your disguise is fantastic? I wouldn't have recognised you if you hadn't told me your name in time," he gave her a short, encouraging smile.

Brennan sighed inwardly. Never had he been so nice to her. It's amazing how people can become kind and considerate towards you when they need you. She was about to thank him politely when the door opened.

"Ah, Cummings! Join us, please," Cullen invited him into his office.

"Yes Sir," he replied politely, his voice filled with respect, making Brennan wonder if it was real or just another cover.

Cummings froze when he noticed her sitting in the chair opposite Cullen's desk and his eyes turned big.

"What is she doing here?" he asked Cullen under his breath, causing him to laugh hard.

"Agent Cummings, she's got everyone fooled. Let me introduce you to Rosa Beck, also known as our very own Doctor Brennan," Cullen proudly introduced her. "I have to say these disguises from the Narcotics Undercover Department are brilliant. Where's yours, by the way?"

"I'm going there after this meeting. Had to finish up some paperwork, got delayed."

"By what?" Brennan asked innocently and cocked her head to the side.

Cummings shot her a threatening glare.

"Paperwork. Do I need to spell it out for you? After all, you're blond now," he spat.

Cullen cut in quickly, patting Cummings on the back perhaps a little harder than necessary to calm him down.

"That's quite a temper, Agent. Better learn how to control yourself before taking the good doctor under your care."

"I don't need him to take care of me," Brennan blurted out. "But I'll keep an eye on him," she added with disdain, earning herself another glare. It would have worried her how quickly he got mad if she hadn't been a black belt in three types of martial arts thus was perfectly capable of physically protecting herself.

"Very rational idea, Doctor Brennan. Why don't you keep an eye on each other? But while you're at it; please solve the case."

A short pause followed, the tension that wired the room since Cummings had entered palpable.

"That is all, you can go solve this case, now. Good luck, make the Bureau proud."

Cummings was the first to murmur a 'thank you, Sir' and turn on his heel to leave the office.

"Thank you," Brennan told him and shook his hand, then left the room as well.

She entered the seemingly abandoned hall and closed her eyes for a moment, feeling a headache gathering strength in the back of her head.

Tylenol, she decided for once. She couldn't afford to be in a weakened state now, not on the night they'd leave for the Washington underworld. The blue carpet muffled the clicking her high heels would otherwise have made and she was grateful for the dimmed lights. The building was almost quiet; everyone had gone home to their families, it seemed. But not she. It might be a long time before she'd be home again.

She pressed the elevator button and found herself still not used to the bright nail polish that adorned her nails. Suddenly her head jerked to the side sharply, purely on instinct.

"Who's there?" she asked, her anxiety growing more overwhelming by the second. As if on cue the throbbing in her head intensified. Damn. It had to be because she was all alone. No, wait. Cullen was in his office just a couple of doors away.

"You're a real bitch, you know that?"

It was as if he'd been waiting for her around the corner of the elevator and now he had her pinned against the wall, pinching her forearms as he leaned into her.

"Let go of me," Brennan demanded in as steady a voice as she could muster.

Cummings started shaking his head and dug his fingers into her flesh.

"You keep messing it up, you just—you're fine-looking but I can't stand being around you!" he hissed in her face.

"Leonard, let go of me now or I'm calling Cullen, I swear," she threatened. She could have taken him down a while ago but somehow she preferred to calm him down first.

Fortunately, her approach seemed to work because he backed away and held up his hands defensively.

"I just can't do this with you. I can't work with you," he said with something in his voice that she could have mistaken for emotion.

She took a few tentative steps towards him and her fingers met the blond bangs on her forehead, gently brushing them out of her face.

"Look, Leo…" she began but didn't know what she was actually trying to say.

"What?" he asked irritably and ran a hand over his face.

"Listen, I—we need to solve the case. We have to. Not only do we have to find out the truth about who killed Michael Benson but it's also our job to put this maniac in prison." Brennan was trying what she did best: Reason.

"You want to go after the truth, right?" he eyed her carefully.

"The truth and justice," she confirmed.

"All right. I'll do it. We'll lock him up. You deserve your shot at revenge anyway."

"Well—thanks, but, that is not what this is about. The fact is he killed a man and abducted me. He's broken laws and therefore has to stand trial."

"Yeah, well, are you ready?" he said, suddenly changing his tone to impatience.

"Don't I look ready?" for the first time since she'd met him, Brennan tried to smile. She managed one half-way.

"Fine," he nodded. "Then I should get ready. I'll meet you in ninety minutes. You can take a nap downstairs, if you'd like."

She nodded her head and stepped into the waiting elevator.

"See you in a bit. Sweetheart," he added playfully and smirked.

"Don't call me that; we're not undercover yet," she admonished him as the doors closed.

Already it was hard to resist the urge to call Booth. She could still jump in a cab and go back to him, to safety. But no, she had decided to solve this case; now she would. One way or another, she had to.

**--------------**

_**A/N: So how did you like Brennan letting Cummings make a fool out of himself? Nice, no? And was the goodbye-partner part sad enough? You know we'd appreciate to hear from you! As for next chapter; poor Brennan will suffer when her undercover life begins, but maybe not how you expect she will… Are you curious yet? Good! Then we'll talk to you Sunday. Have a nice week everyone!**_


	13. Gone

_**A/N: Your reviews are precious to us, you are so kind, it really makes us want to give you more and more! Here it comes, chapter 13, the cursed chapter. Believe it or not, in this chapter, Cummings is being less a jerk and does his best to be good to his new partner. Maybe he can be kind, after all. And also, Donald Duck will make a brief appearance. Not kidding. Good reading!**_

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Chapter 13 – Gone

"This is as far as I'll be getting you," the driver announced and pulled up beside the curb. The street was deserted and littered. Most of the lampposts were out of order and the scarce light some of them did produce illuminated the empty cans and bags which rolled and rustled as every gust of wind blew them further across the pavement. The night was cold, and Brennan and Cummings stepped out of the car, retrieved their suitcases from the trunk and shivered. The second Cummings slammed the trunk closed their ride made off and quiet enveloped them. They merely stood there for a moment, Brennan somewhat dazed, Cummings already glancing around to check if anyone had noticed their silent, brief arrival.

"Clear," he mumbled to himself, then, "Let's get going, Rosy."

They started moving; two dark figures in the bone-chilling cold, the only proof of their living the clouds erupting from their mouths as their nerves could be heard through their breathing. Brennan cursed her clothes, which seriously lacked material. Her barely-covered legs were trembling with cold and her abdomen was ice under her top and coat, not to mention her hands, which stood in direct contact with the humid, freezing air. She hadn't a clue as to where they were going. This wasn't just part of her cover; she hardly knew anything. Where were they going? Their lair. Who were they? Greg Furgenson and Rosa Beck. What was their story? Lovers, she ran away from home to be with him. Why would she do that? Because it's what people do when they're in love. Stop asking questions, do your job.

Her cough pierced the silence and Cummings glanced over his shoulder, shooting her a damning look. She didn't care. She'd decided to remain _cool_. There would be no problem.

It felt as if she had a clothespin on her nose; as if somebody was tightening a clamp around her head. Banging on her skull, her brains floating in some sort of drugging liquid.

Perfect.

She was never sick, never. Never in her life had she missed a single day of work because of this. And now, on the same day she was to begin her undercover mission, the flu was threatening her. How infuriating. As if Cummings was not enough of a pain in the ass.

"You okay, Rosa? You seem a little pale."

She hated the way he insisted on her undercover name, saying it as if it was an insult. She hated how he pretended to care. He didn't give a rat's behind about her, she knew as much. He might as well quit playing stupid. Even though he made it seem like he'd sleep with her any time of the day, she was sure that if she offered, he would laugh at her and back away in disgust. They held mutual contempt for each other.

"I'm all right," she grumbled.

"You sure? Because you talk like Donald Duck."

He snorted in an attempt to laugh at her.

"I don't know what that means."

"You gotta be kidding me! Donald Duck? Walt Disney?"

When she didn't answer, he rolled his eyes and murmured something she wasn't able to hear. They continued their way in silence, Brennan making sure to stay a few steps behind him. After a few blocks the density of people on the streets started to increase and Cummings roughly pulled her against him. She cringed as her head protested against the sudden movement, making her feel like it would explode and intensifying her anger towards her 'partner'. She bit her tongue so she wouldn't ask him how many streets more before they reached their building, before she would be able to lay her aching body to rest in preferably a soft, warm bed with additional blankets.

The neighbourhood seemed slightly familiar. After a few more minutes it appeared her torture had come to an end. As Cummings pointed at the building, its decayed state even obvious with the lack of light, she sighed in relief. He went in first, pushing through the creaking door, not bothering to keep it open for her. Brennan struggled in, her suitcase and bag keeping her balanced, though making it even more difficult for her to stay on her feet. She was so cold, and her head hurt _so_ much. If they had to climb stairs she was going to pass out and spend the first night lying on the filthy floor, using her bag as a pillow.

A few lights lined the ceiling and caused their shadows to flicker. She felt tired and dropped her bag and suitcase on the floor, unable to keep walking without flailing. Cummings took no notice, or simply didn't care, and rapped on a door somewhere up the corridor. Muffled voices reached her ears but the sound didn't register. Her eyelids became too heavy and she fought the urge to let it happen, to close her eyes.

She hadn't noticed them falling shut, but when she opened her eyes the face of Cummings was staring at her. Next she felt a cold hand pressed against her forehead. Then the curt demand to hand him her bag and suitcase. Somehow she managed to drag her body upstairs, where Cummings turned a key in the lock of a door that looked just like the others and pushed it open, granting them access to their place.

Brennan pushed past him immediately and began her quick search for the bedroom. She later understood she had crossed the living room and kitchen and opened the door to the tiny bathroom, containing a toilet and a shower, the tiles against the walls and floor mostly showing chipped edges and cockroaches passing through the sink. The second door she tried gave way to an equally small bedroom. The moth-eaten curtains were drawn and the mattress on the double bed stained. Nonetheless she threw her jacket on the bed and walked back to the living room to find an extra cover.

Cummings seemed elated and was happily putting the kettle on in the kitchen when she came into view.

"I take it you're going to bed. Fine. Your stuff's over there," he said and pointed to the couch.

"I need another blanket," she conveyed with a groggy voice.

"Check the closet in the bedroom," was his reply as he turned back to the stove and started stirring in a pan, probably making himself soup.

"You take the couch, by the way," she said before she stepped into the bedroom and slammed the door shut behind her, ignoring his indignant look.

Finding the blanket she'd been looking for, she kicked off her boots and got out of her nylon stockings, shivering with cold. She let herself drop on the bed. Lying on her back, she closed her eyes, and her hand went to her forehead. Jeez, it felt hot. Oh God, she didn't have fever now, did she?

A shiver gave her the answer she dreaded.

_Wonderful_.

Quickly, she unfolded the blanket and wrapped it around herself, then grabbed the duvet and pulled it over her trembling body as another cough vibrated through her head, slamming into her nerves and sending tears to her eyes. Perhaps she should just let it out.

Had she believed in any god, she would have prayed for her fever to go down during the night, for her headache to disappear and her nose to heal. But scientifically speaking, nothing was announcing she'd feel better the day after. Yet, she would have to.

So, she got up, wincing when it made the pain in her head but worse. She unzipped her bag, despite her blurred vision picked the most comfortable top and jog pants she could find. Satisfied to note that her annoying temporary partner seemed willing to leave her alone, she undressed and slipped the clean clothes on.

When she settled under the covers, curled up in a desperate attempt to stop shaking from the cold, her thoughts went to Booth. She wondered what he was doing, right now; what he was thinking of. She wondered if he was thinking of her; whether he missed her as much as she missed him.

Her hands clinging to the blankets, she wished he was in the room next to hers, that she had only some steps to take to be able to snuggle under the covers close to him. Surely, had she been able to, she'd stop shivering. She suddenly felt lost, and sad, and a little scared; something that she hadn't experienced since she was a child. A sob got caught in her throat and a tear ran down her cheek before crashing on the pillow. She preferred thinking that it was because her head hurt like hell. But if she was completely honest with herself, she would have known that that had nothing to do with her tears.

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He felt like a wild animal stalking his prey; like a lion moving forward without a noise, waiting for the best moment to throw himself upon his helpless piece of food. He had been following her on her heels for days, and never had she been aware of it. If she had been, he would have known about it.

He wondered if she was already asleep, now; if she was dreaming, and what she was dreaming about. Whether she was having a nightmare, and if he was part of it. Or maybe her fears prevented her from sleeping. Maybe she was thinking of him, and a chill was running up her spine. He hoped that he caused her to shiver with fear. She didn't know that he was stalking her, but a part of her probably felt it. She was alone now, but she didn't even know how much she was.

No disguise, no place would be able to hide her from him, now. And nobody would keep him from accomplishing what he was dying to do. He had been waiting for so long.

A smile playing on his lips, he let out a loud, contented sigh. He wouldn't have problems falling asleep, tonight.

Patience. It was almost time.

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The dry heat that had her entire body glowing was nearly unbearable. Her skin was on fire and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. The fabric of her pyjamas clung to her sweaty body, the veins in her hands visibly swollen in an attempt to give off warmth. She wanted to roll off her back for the heat was melting her skin. Her headache had lessened considerably, yet she couldn't move her eyes much or the pain shut through her skull. Quickly, she kicked back the several layers of isolation she had been so keen to gather the night before. It helped, but only for a little while. She proceeded to roll up the legs of her pants as well as the sleeves of her top. Still, it was hot.

With a sigh she concluded that this was all she would be able to do for herself for now and she turned her head to the curtains to estimate the time. It had to be early in the morning, or at least before eight thirty, with the dark days of this time of year.

Then she pricked up her ears and tried to pick up on every sound, registering every one of them, because that way, she would know if anything was out of the ordinary. Plus she was just bored. So she created one of her mental lists:

_Time of day: Morning._

_Sounds: Ticking from an unidentified source, not directly in the bedroom. Muffled sounds from outside, the wind whispering through cracks of windows, yawning._

Cummings had to be waking up, too.

Stretching her arms to either side of her and spreading her legs to maximise her warmth-emission—yes, very charming, but who could see her, anyway—she continued to listen to Cummings' waking-up sounds while letting her eyes rest by closing her lids.

_Creaking of the couch. A moan. Creaking of the floor as he apparently puts his weight on his feet while standing up. Slippers being stepped into, slow steps. Uneven steps._

Mostpeople would probably not have noticed this but she had; after all, she was a kinesiologist. But why did it matter, anyway? Angela was right when she said that she should really try to forget about work and her scientific knowledge, sometimes.

_The sound of his steps, again, as he shuffles into the kitchen. Drawers being rummaged through._

A sigh, and she shifted onto her other side. A moan, and she was drawn into a fitful sleep again.

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He waved at his son who was making faces from behind the car window before Rebecca's car sped off into the dark street. He was just able to catch the kiss the little boy blew him before he closed the door and wheeled into the now quiet house. Usually, he would continue to pick up Parker's toys from all over the living room, but this time the house looked tidy, as if a five-year-oldhadn't just spent the weekend creating dinosaur valleys and racetracks throughout the house. No, today Parker had made sure to put every toy back in its place. He had insisted on being a big help and a good boy. At least he was worthy of Bones' trust.

With a contented sigh, he let his gaze wander around. Well, now that he had all of these square metres to himself again, he had better make the best of it. Oh yeah, _peace. Quiet. Finally._ Coffee. No. Beer. No! Scotch.

And movies. Bad action movies, with no characters, lots of unnecessary violence and predictable plots. Oh! Not to forget the couch or the coffee table he would feel free to prop his feet on. Well; foot.

Humming loudly to himself, Booth retrieved all the things he needed and settled in front of the TV. He lifted his leg from the step of his chair with difficulty so that he could lay it on the table. Bones would have _so _scolded him for this. Or would she? If anything, he'd learnt that even after having known her for several years, his presumptions about her had really been only those. To be completely honest, he'd expected her to be a neat-freak, attacking every flake of dust with the vacuum cleaner. To take the plate from under his nose as he was still eating, to lock herself in her room when he didn't need her so he wouldn't be any trouble to her daily routine. He'd expected her to live as meticulously as she worked, expected her to be, well, fairly self-centred; but frankly, he couldn't have been more wrong.

In the beginning, yes, she'd felt a little uncomfortable and he could sense the tenseness in her movements through his house, especially when he was in the same room. She'd almost suffocated him with her helping hands—he complimented himself for this smartly found pun—and had come to bear a frightening resemblance to his mother when she used to take care of him when he was a child. Freaky

At any rate, the awkwardness had subsided quickly enough once he'd let her know that he was completely comfortable with the situation as it was, and she'd relaxed. What a relief. She was hard enough to get through to when she was serving as a scientific dictionary—in other words, doing her job with a passion—but an uncomfortable, slightly _insecure _Bones was even more excruciating to try to have a casual talk with. And he liked to do this, to talk. About anything, just for the sake of cosiness and familiarity. He only did this with women or Parker around, for other men would think this a 'female habit', he was sure. Oh, she would definitely have enough blackmail material by now.

Booth shifted in his chair. Bright shades of orange and yellow dominated the television screen before him as a bus exploded. He reached for his drink and took a sip, then tilted his head back, feeling the alcohol make its way over his tongue, through his oesophagus, to a place where he couldn't feel it anymore. At least it was no longer quiet.

She was actually fun to live with. Really, she was funny. If she was in the right mood, she could even be hilarious. Sometimes she would make one of these horribly outdated jokes and he couldn't help cracking up over them. Yes, she was all smiles most of the time, when she felt good. That was something else he hadn't expected to be able to witness; once at ease, she completely let her guard down and she was actually very readable. He would notice the minute something bothered her, and although he found her reluctant to talk about it, he would eventually get it out of her. Her rationality actually made her easier to live with than with his girlfriends. There wasn't any hidden meaning behind her words that she expected him to pick up on; she was clear and honest.

"_What's wrong?"_

"_Nothing."_

"_Bones, you haven't said a word to me in the last thirty minutes and your face is all wrinkly. You might as well tell me what's bothering you so we can fix it and put you in a good mood again. And then you can make us coffee."_

_He flashed her his charm smile. Not because that had any effect on her as far as he knew, but out of habit._

"_Don't try to boss me around, Booth."_

"_Of course. That was a joke." He winked at her playfully and she scowled at him._

_After a pause, she finally said, "I really can't stand that you make fun of me when I hum."_

"_I would never—"_

"_Yes, you would, Booth. When I'm preparing dinner, or when I'm vacuum cleaning, or even when the radio's on. I don't make fun of you when you hum so it doesn't seem fair to me that you do it to me."_

"_Ah, Bones! You shouldn't feel insulted. I like it when you're humming to yourself. It makes you seem so normal, and that is really unique. Honestly, you can start singing under the shower if you want, and you won't hear a thing from me anymore. Except maybe compliments. But that's not really what we do, right Bones? We complement each other, not compliment."_

He smiled at the memory of what her look had turned into—a mix of surprise, embarrassment and joy. And the laugh she had let out before she walked away from him, saying that she'd fix some coffee.

The movie was what he had expected it to be—with no characters and a predictable end. And with no partner, friend and nurse all in one to watch it with. Ninety minutes later it had ended, and as the end credits rolled down the screen accompanied by soft drumming and a howling guitar every now and then, Booth awoke from his alcohol-induced slumber. He looked beside him and wanted to slap his own head for it.

_No, mister Bright Guy, Bones is _not _here. She's currently undercover, if the scotch will allow you to remember._

_Hey! I had the right to drink and party tonight. I've just gained back my territory!_

_If only you could really feel that way…_

If it hadn't been time for him to go to bed before, it was now. The average mentally healthy man like himself wasn't used to having such lively inner dialogues.

After having switched off the television and having left the empty glass on the coffee table, Booth wheeled himself into the bathroom. On his way, he passed her bedroom door and found himself strangely attracted to it. As if, now that he wouldn't get caught, he had the chance to look at her stuff.

Her bedroom. It had never actually been her bedroom. Just the room she had been sleeping in for a number of nights. But he had to admit; it felt strange to open this door, and he was slightly excited about what he might find. However, as he should have been expecting, the bed was made, the drawers and shelves empty, and she had left nothing behind. Not even the lingering smell of her perfume.

It was the same in the bathroom. Not even a forgotten toothbrush. She really was gone.

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_**A/N: Poor Booth, he feels so alone and lost and... Who wants to help him feel better? One at a time please!! In the next chapter, you'll realise how much Booth misses his Bones. And the end is sort of... Well, let's say you'll be biting your nails!**_


	14. Trapped

_**A/N: Hi everyone! Happy Easter! Thank you so much for your reviews of the last chapter, they truly make our day. Well, we promised you angst, so here it is. Incidentally, we noticed that the ---- separating the paragraphs are gone somehow. We will fix that as soon as possible. But for now, we wish you good reading!**_

Chapter 14 – Trapped

He missed her sleepy face when he woke up, her smile in the morning, her babbling while eating breakfast. He missed her coffee, her cooking, her caring gaze. He missed her perfume, the sight of her, and the sound of her steps. Why hadn't he realised it before? That he was addicted to the scent of her, that the slightest contact of her fingers made him shiver delightfully, that little by little he had got used to her being around; that what he liked to call 'his territory' didn't mean anything to him anymore. And that the happily shining sun didn't make him joyful at all, today; that nothing would, that it couldn't, because she was not there to share it with him. This coffee was the same, he could move one of his feet, it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day for once, and yet, everything seemed insipid, worthless, dull. He hadn't seen it coming. Why did it become clear only now that she was gone?

Booth stretched his hand to put his empty coffee cup back on the counter. He wondered what she was doing, if she was still sleeping. Looking at the clock, he figured that she had probably been up for at least two hours. With all his might, he wished that he had been able to go undercover with her. Of course, there was no point in tormenting himself and he knew very well that his going with her was out of the question as long as he was confined to a wheelchair, so he hoped that she was fine, and he made the selfish wish that she'd come back to him sooner rather than later. Frankly, that seemed more important to him at this moment than solving the case.

This was going to be a long day, longing for her voice, and her scent, and her gentle touch. Several long days, wondering what would happen when she'd come back; how they would celebrate the closing of this case; if their partnership would be affected by everything that had been happening lately; and what would become of him if he'd never completely heal. Long, depressing days, chewing over his thoughts, with no one to laugh with, and no one to bicker with. He was alone, and her absence filled every corner of his house, and his heart.

* * *

She knew it all too well. Sleep was a reassuring refuge. Somewhere you could hide, somewhere you could pretend everything was all right; a place to dream, a place to forget. But sleep is fragile, and she knew it too. A loud bang as the door was swung against the wall and her eyes shot open.

"You awake?"

Stupid question—How could she possibly still be sleeping after that assault on her eardrums?

"Sort of," she answered in a groggy voice. If this man could just vanish from her life... And why was he in her room, anyway?

"Brought you breakfast. Thought you might want to eat something."

Indeed, he was carrying a plate and cup, she saw now that her vision had cleared. He was still wearing his pyjamas.

"You trying to seduce me or something?" he asked.

"What?" she asked, puzzled, as she pushed herself into a sitting position, allowing her body the time to adjust its blood flow to her new position.

"You're lying sprawled out across the bed like that, exposed as much as you can, and you don't consider it disturbing?"

As she was considering not giving him any answer at all instead of shooting him with a gun she realised she didn't have at hand, he handed her the plate and cup, which she put on the nightstand next to her. What the hell did he want?

"I have increased body temperature, also known as a fever," she tried to tell him with authority and disdain, but failed to do so. She swore inwardly. She was just too weak, and her voice was really too hoarse.

There was his hand on her forehead again, annoying her to no end. She held herself from slapping him. Maybe he was doing his best to be caring, after all. But there was something about his touch that disgusted her; something that made her want to give him a blow which would send him across the room, something that made her feel a chill run down her spine. But then, the only man to have touched her in the last month or so was Booth. Perhaps the contrast between his touch and Cummings' was just so stark that her body objected to it. Honestly, she didn't want to sound like a child, but she _wanted Booth. _She wanted Booth to worry about her while she was sick and she wanted Booth to soothe the pain with his presence and kind words.

Cummings whistled. "Yup, that's a fever all right. Better stay in bed today."

When she was trying to convince herself that he was nicer than she thought, she felt annoyed again. Who was he that she was toning down her instincts so she would trust him? Her father? Booth?

"I'm fine. I'll just take some Tylenol—"

God. Even when she was bothered, her voice was so low that it sounded soft. She wished she didn't have to talk; her throat was so painful and dry.

"Appears it ruins your liver. You sure you want medication? I thought you'd be the type to let your body heal itself and all that shit."

She shot him a glare, succeeding this time, and pointed at the door. "Go take a shower first and I'll eat this. Then I'm coming with you. …Thanks for breakfast," she felt obliged to add.

He gave her his awful smirk again and left the room. She couldn't help but to smell and give the bread and strawberry jam a thorough inspection before taking a bite.

Shortly after he'd left the room, Cummings re-entered and threw her a pack of pills which landed in her lap.

He turned on his heel and stormed out so abruptly Brennan didn't feel the need to say 'thank you'. Instead she popped out two pills and swallowed them with tea.

As she ate slowly, she heard more stumbling and then the shower being turned on. The food and tea actually made her feel better, at any rate it gave her energy-level a boost, and she was pleased with the fact that there was nothing wrong with her appetite.

After having finished her breakfast, sleep started pulling at her body again. At her eyelids, in particular. So she decided to lie on her side and close her eyes until Cummings would be ready in the bathroom. She wouldn't sleep, just keep her eyes closed for a little while; just rest a little more. But you never can decide whether you'll fall asleep or not. Sleep comes to catch you whenever it wishes to.

* * *

He put his palm flat on the mirror. Against his warm skin, the glass felt cold and damp. It reminded him of his childhood. A submissive mother, a violent father. Bad pupil at school, not a lot of friends. These were not actually good memories, but it was a time he never wanted to forget. Because he liked to think that it was what had formed his personality, what had made him become who he was now. A smart, handsome, strong-minded man. Someone he was proud to be. When he removed it, his hand had left a mark on the condensation. He stared at it for a moment, studying thoughtfully his own reflection until it blurred, and was gently replaced by hundreds of tiny droplets of water.

In the shower, the hot water was still flowing—flowing for nothing, but why would he mind? He didn't pay for that.

He smiled. The sun was shining outside. Usually, he never paid attention to the weather. But today was different. The sun was shining. Soon, its rays would make the early morning frost melt. He could already feel it: Today was going to be a great day.

He finally turned off the faucet and rubbed his hair with a smooth, warm towel. He couldn't chase them from his mind, the two women he never stopped thinking of. Love and hate, such close notions. Love for the one who had caught his heart, who gave meaning to his life, the one whom he had killed for, whom he'd give his life for. Hate for the one who had thwarted his plans, who thought she was more intelligent than he was. Despite what she had to be thinking, everything wasn't over. This was going to be a great, sunny day, but not for everyone.

He who laughs last laughs longest.

* * *

She woke up again, shivering with cold this time, though it seemed that the drugging liquid had dissolved in her head, enabling her to think clearly again, and her eyes weren't popping out of her head anymore. Her coldness was probably merely caused by the fact that her legs as well as her arms were practically bare and the covers lay scrambled at the end of the bed.

The muscles in her back and shoulders were a bit sore so she shifted, but was alerted by what she felt.

Flattening her hands against the floor, she dragged her palms over the rough, gritty texture. …So much for lying in a bed. She wasn't in the room where fell asleep some time ago. How much time ago? Her fingertips brushed the floor as she described two semi-circles with her arms, feeling for nearby objects or walls. Nothing. She tried with her legs this time. Nothing. She tried moving her head. She could.

Pricking up her ears, she listened. Distant creaking and a gust of wind chasing phantoms through the narrow corridors. Muffled footsteps, as if someone were walking on dust.

The air she sucked into her lungs was moist. It had probably just rained. She hated how the pinning air felt in her throat. Even when she let the oxygen seep in through her nose it seemed as if her lungs froze, making it painful to breathe.

Again, footsteps. Louder this time, albeit just a little.

She felt thirsty, her lips and throat were dry. Swallowing was difficult and painful. A moan escaped her as she forced some saliva into her throat, scraping its walls in the process. She imagined a bottle of water, or the billowing stream of liquid that emerged when she turned open the faucet at Booth's house. It didn't feel like sixty per cent of her body consisted of water; it felt like sixty per cent of her body had vanished. And suddenly she felt exhausted…

Her eyes were open but it was too dark to see. She let her blind gaze wander through the blackness that surrounded her, enveloped her, invaded her. Wait—she _knew _this type of darkness. She'd felt it before. And the thirst… The sore muscles, the cold ground...

The footsteps were getting louder, alerting her to the fact that someone was approaching. She recognised the footfalls, realised the inevitability of their entrance into the room… in the decayed warehouse… This chilling place which had been haunting her dreams, and that had become her living nightmare again.

Her breath hitched in her throat. No. Not again. She was dreaming, wasn't she? Another of these nightmares that seemed so real... Because it couldn't be… could it? Was it really impossible for this to happen a second time? She had to admit it wasn't when the person creating the noise of footsteps held still. He had to be standing in front of a closed door now. Or was the door already open? But then… she could have run away. She could have got away as soon as she woke up! Maybe she still had a chance.

She lifted her head from the cold, hard surface first. Then, contracting her abdominal muscles pair by pair, she pulled her body into a sitting position. Slowly, she pushed herself off the ground and placed her feet under her body. Then, just as she was about to stand up, a blinding ray of light pierced the darkness, causing it to scatter away into dark corners.

Instinctively, she stayed crouched on the floor and placed the side of her hand against her forehead to protect her eyes. She was caught in the light as if it paralysed her, exposed her, defeated her.

When the whispering began, she snapped out of her terror-induced shock and stood up quickly, wanting to make off into the safety of darkness. Yet, she couldn't get to her feet. Weightless, invisible restraints kept her low to the floor, and she couldn't move. She felt like a savage animal, trapped in a cage, torn from the wild for a life of captivity.

The whispering continued as she pulled and tried to break her restraints, but she couldn't make out what he was saying. He sounded almost like he was casting a spell on her, and to heighten her terror he started to take slow, determined steps towards her again. She fought between keeping her eyes closed, protecting them from getting burnt by the light, and opening them, peering straight into the whiteness, trying to get a view of his face, or at least his appearance. If only she would be able to identify him, if only she could be sure that this was Matthew Delaney, if only she could get him this time…

His feet held still right in front of her, she knew from the clearness of the sound, but still she couldn't make out anything. The whispered vowels and consonants formed words unfamiliar to her, and every couple of words he would hiss something at her. She wasn't the kind of person who was easily scared. But it was truly frightening.

Anxious thoughts were flying through her mind. What was he going to do to her this time? Torture her? Starve her? Cut her? …Kill her? What was he after, what did he want? What could she do? If she screamed, would it help her or would it set him off? Should she fight him? Yes. Of course, of course she should fight him.

She remembers his touch, and the pain that would always accompany it. Always, pain. Always, thirst. Always, hunger. Always, agony.

Her mind started conjuring up images of Booth and her co-workers, standing in a semi-circle, looking defeated. As they walked away, their slouched figures diminishing in the increasing distance, her mind's eye switched directions and turned back to the place where they had gathered. Zooming in on a black object rising from the trampled grass, its engravings became legible. The momentary stillness of her frantic heart was caused by the fact that it was her own name the headstone bore.

_Oh God, I can't… I can't, I can't…_

"Please, don't touch me…" The words left her mouth in a whisper and her head was bent forward, so it was pretty unlikely he had heard her. Still, a part of her wished that she was able to be stronger, that she hadn't begged him.

Her entire body grew rigid, anticipating a kick or punch any moment. She cried out when his fingers made contact with her hair and caressed it. With all her might she tried to turn away, but her body wouldn't let her.

Her breaths were raspy and uneven as she continued to undergo his caresses. Then, she felt his fingers gathering her hair and pulling it, bit by bit, until her throat was completely exposed to the light. She tried to look, to get a glimpse of him, yet couldn't see anything but bright light.

Somehow she sensed the closeness of his body. His breathing was regular and calm, as if he were asleep. Was this the end? She knew it was coming. It was like the blade cut through a field of electricity around her before it even brushed her skin. She knew it was almost over. But then, she felt something light yet heavy in her hand. Without thinking about the consequences, she brought it to her face and finally, she was able to see. It was a cell phone. And the screen said 'BOOTH'.

_**A/N: Did you like it? Have any suspicions about certain persons yet? Next chapter will be longer and less angsty. We can't really give you any spoilers because it would give away the cliffhanger in this chapter. Please bear with us! What we can tell you, is that the following chapters will be very suspenseful, and a lot will become clear. Also, we do take notice of your wishes in the reviews, and consider your ideas. You will find out what we do with them. Hope to see you all next Sunday. Bye for now!**_


	15. No time for weakness

_**A/N: **__**We'll never thank you enough for supporting us and telling us what you think of our story. It made us especially happy when one of you said that it didn't seem that two writers are working on this story. We love writing together and we really complement each other. The story isn't a mere succession of parts or chapters written by each other, and we're glad to know that the result is what we hoped it to be!**_ _**There even are clubs that make every day a Sunday and people are trying to find ways to fast forward time to let it be Sunday… it warms our hearts. And minds! Because after all, a big part of this story was conjured up by our brains (you know that our hearts have been dealing with the fluff parts, not the plot). There has been lots of speculation about the ending of our previous chapter. So of course, you'll find out what it was now.**_

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Chapter 15 – No time for weakness

"Your turn."

Her eyes shot open and she unclenched her fists, releasing the now wrinkled sheet. Reality came rushing towards her as though she was driving towards the end of a tunnel.

Taking a deep breath, she answered in what she hoped to be a steady voice.

"Okay. I'll be right out."

His reply surprised her.

"Take your time. I'll be in the kitchen. You know, refreshing my memory on all of my best buddies here. So anyway don't rush."

He left the room, leaving the door ajar. She heard him walk towards the kitchen, made a mental match between his footsteps and the ones from that morning, so she would recognise them always. So she didn't have to be afraid someone else was in the house. So it couldn't be Matthew Delaney.

Sitting up in the bed, she gave her head a moment to stop spinning. As soon as her back left the mattress, cold air started to crawl up her spine, causing goose bumps to appear all over her body. With the cold, the memory of her nightmare returned. She hadn't had one for days. None that she knew of, at any rate.

Sometimes she didn't remember her nightmares, but the look in Booth's eyes as he first glanced at her in the morning always told her he was aware of her nightly struggles. Not that either of them ever attempted to address the topic. There was no point to, frankly. Of course, Booth wouldn't be Booth if he didn't let her know, in some way, that he was there for her if she wanted to talk. She could tell from how he would take her hand and squeeze it as it hung beside her body while she was pouring coffee with the other. She always squeezed back, using his way of communicating to tell him she was fine.

She hoped he was all right.

Her gaze turned to her cell phone on the nightstand. Not her own one. She wasn't allowed to keep her own cell phone during the undercover mission. Too dangerous. This one was Rosa's cell phone, and Cullen only knew the number. She knew it was impossible that Booth would have called her. Yet, she couldn't help checking. What if something bad had happened and Cullen had agreed on giving him her emergency number and—

Nothing on the screen. No Booth, no calls, no messages. Nothing. Of course.

She closed her eyes one more time and when she opened them, her vision was clear and steady. The soles of her feet sucked the cold from the floor up her body as she stood. With a slightly wobbly pace, she reached her suitcase and—for God's sake—she got out a pair of tight jeans and a shirt with a low neckline. On her way to the door, she grabbed the brown contact lensesfrom the nightstand and leisurely walked towards the bathroom.

She was feeling a lot better than last night, though she was experiencing a rather weak state. Even her head felt heavy.

In daylight, the living room seemed common. Just a small square space with walls the colour of ashes, a dusty rug on the floor, a leather chair and couch, a coffee table. In the corner sat a TV. An old model. It probably wouldn't even work. Not that she cared; she didn't even like to watch TV. Moreover, watching TV was not what they had come here to do.

Glancing at the kitchen, she noticed Cummings' wild, still wet hair standing out against the red colour of the cupboards which lined the wall above the counter. His back was towards her as he was flicking through a small pile of files. Every once in a while he would let out a 'tsk' or 'hm' or 'riiiiight'. Apparently he was truly concentrating on the task at hand. She appreciated his effort. It turned out that while he was mostly a jerk, he did take his job seriously. When he raised his hand and rounded his head to lazily scratch his neck, she decided to end her observation and opened the door to the bathroom.

To say that the shower was small would be an understatement. The weak flow of drops desperately trying to cling onto one another so they could at least pretend to pass off as an uninterrupted showerhardly wetted her hair. Okay, this wasn't working. Besides, it wouldn't surprise her if Cummings had used up all the warm water anyway, leaving her to get the job done with a washcloth and the sink to wash her hair in.

Even though she'd washed her hair under worse circumstances, the task would have been so much easier done in the shower. What was more, she was shivering, wearing merely a large towel. Was he _trying _to keep her ill? Growing rather frustrated, she continued on the line of negative thinking. If it was indeed his intention to incapacitate her during their assignment, then why had he even insisted she tag along? There was only one conceivable answer: To make her life miserable when nobody was there to reprimand him. And if this was the case, the fact that the lock on the bathroom door was broken could hardly be a coincidence, either.

_Way to go, Brennan. He has you exactly where he wants. You're just playing along in this stupid game of his. But this is about no game; you're here to solve a case. Better pull yourself together or he'll have won._

Finally, she was done with her hair. Her reflection in the mirror seemed unfamiliar to her. Well, at least that was a good thing. What would happen if she walked into the Jeffersonian looking like this, wearing the high heels and excessive amount of makeup, looking like it was a hundred degrees outside? Maybe the boys would stare at her and mumble something to themselves, but Angela would be onto her, no doubt. She would ask what had got into her mind and give her some advice on the makeup, and then ramble about how Booth would get a heart-attack if he saw her like this.

As she began rubbing the soap over her body, her thoughts went to her partner. She hoped he was all right. A dull pain in her chest told her that she missed him terribly, but also that she still felt bad about leaving him alone. Usually, she would have chased this kind of thoughts, this kind of feelings. But today, things were different. Because something had happened that had changed her. Because if she had been smart enough, and strong enough, as she had always thought she was, she wouldn't have been taken a third time by a sicko, and she wouldn't have put her partner in danger. Because the realisation that she, in fact, was _not _always perfectly capable of taking care of herself had hit her hard. Because, in truth, guilt was nagging at her, responsibility was gnawing at her, invading her mind, preventing her from relaxing. Because, for some reason, she felt lonely, and sad, and weak. Because this time, she was on her own.

She repressed a sigh of anger with herself. What was she, a ten-year-old missing her mommy? She had a job to do, something she was good at and something she liked. She was a professional. What's more, she was a scientist. A professional doesn't waver; a scientist doesn't flinch. And Booth? Of course, he would manage. He was a smart, strong man who could take care of himself perfectly, just like her. This was really no time for weakness. This was time to make things right.

* * *

She was so not ready for this. So. Not. Ready. For. This.

Rolling his eyes, Booth sighed with annoyance. He grabbed the remote control and turned off the television. What was the point in having it on when he had been staring at the screen for so long without actually paying attention to what was happening on it?

She was not ready to go undercover yet. Not like this. Not without him. She was a smart woman, a brilliant scientist, the best in her field. She was strong, and brave, and she mastered at least three types of martial arts. But it was Bones. Tactless, straight to the point, uncomfortable with lies. The only reason their undercover mission in Vegas had worked was because he had been there with her, looking after her. And right now, knowing that every clumsy word could arouse the suspicion of the people she was dealing with and have her unmasked and worse, was killing him.

A thought occurred to him that made him smile briefly for the first time of the day. If he had been a girl, he would have probably drowned his anxiety and his boredom by eating a lot of chocolate ice cream directly from the pot while watching some stupid girlish movie with young, rich, beautiful women whining for some foolish reason; they can't be with the man they love. Then, he would have been filled with guilt because after all the efforts he made to follow a strict but efficient diet, the over-sweetened chocolate ice cream had brought him back to square one. Then, maybe he would have called his best friend and talked to her for a couple of hours.

But his best friend wasn't here right now. He wondered what she would have done were she in his position. She was not the kind of woman that loved to cry over a sad romantic movie. She would have opened her laptop to work on her next novel, or she would have driven to the Jeffersonian and buried herself in the study of old rotten bones. She was not the kind of person that wallowed in self-pity.

Again, he smiled. He smiled at the mental picture of her in her beloved lab coat, leaned over a cold examination table, the white light exaggerating the paleness of her face. He wished he could have other opportunities to watch her working without her even noticing him. He wished he could see her again, turning her gaze up to him, with that bothered look of being interrupted. The smile disappeared from his lips. What if—

_No, that's enough. C'mon, man. You have to stop assuming the worse. What are you, a grumpy old woman? You're Seeley Booth, you're an FBI agent. You're gonna get this ass out of this damned chair and you're gonna walk. You sure will. And as for now, you're gonna put some wearable clothes on you and roll to the grocery store. You don't mind going out, because you don't mind people looking at you with pity in their eyes, because you'll be walking again soon. And you don't mind this stupid wheelchair anymore because that's not what will keep you from doing what you have to do._

Like making sure that Bones was safe. Like investigating this new _impostor_-partner of hers. Time is too precious to be wasted with fears and regrets, too important not to use efficiently. There's no time for weakness. Ever.

* * *

"Greggo!" the man winked at Cummings. "Where the hell've ya been, man? Surprised the shit out of me when ya called this morning. So who's the pretty woman?"

He laughed dearly at his reference to the movie where Julia Roberts played a prostitute. A 'pretty woman'.

"Good to see ya, man. How 'bout you let us in and I'll tell you a fairy tale, except it's actually happened?"

Cummings stepped back from where he'd given the man an enthusiastic guy hug and wound his arm around Brennan's waist, pulling her against him. She forced a smile and looked up at the man who'd opened the door. His long, black hair was tied in a ponytail on the back of his head. He seemed rather restless, in a way people are when they've just taken drugs. Oh well, she was in the very centre of DC's underworld, after all.

"Sure thing, _Greggo_."

Laughter tumbled from his lips once again and he let them enter, then stuck his head out to scan the street and quickly closed the door behind them. Probably out of habit.

Cummings led her through a half-dark corridor and pushed open the red door at the end of it.

This apartment looked much better than theirs, with clean rugs on the floor and matching couches sitting in a square around a large coffee table. The curtains in front of the windows were closed, but merely filtered the sunlight instead of blocking it completely. Atop almost every surface in the room sat a group of candles, emanating a warm glow over the walls and other objects. She stood in the centre of the room and observed with interest. This was not what you'd expect the hole of a drug addict to look like.

"Has a bomb _im_ploded here or something, 'Old? Shit man, this place looks nice," Cummings commented. He was talking the talk, Brennan understood.

"Not a bomb, man, not just a bomb. A freaking _sex _bomb is what I'm tellin' ya. The name is Esmeralda. She's the only one I live for these days." He pronounced her name as if it were sugar melting on his tongue, and his face bore an ecstatic expression.

"Y'got it bad, don' ya?"

"She got my body and soul, man, my body and soul. Babe? They're here! Let my ol' friend have a look at your heavenly being!"

As if on cue, Esmeralda emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray with drinks for all of them. She was an unmistakeable Latina and had very fine, symmetrical features indeed. Her lips were full and accentuated with blood-red lipstick. The mascara on her eyelashes made her deep brown eyes look even bigger and the blush on her cheeks attributed to her attractiveness.

Her curvaceous body swayed rhythmically as she walked towards the table, bent, and put the tray down. With an easy smile, one she undoubtedly was aware was slightly seductive, she gained her spot beside her lover, who immediately claimed her by kissing her forehead and taking her hand. In response, she played a bit with his ponytail and leaned into him, looking expectant.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends, Harold?" she all but whispered in his ear and smiled sweetly.

"Sure thing, babe. Ah, I love it when ya say my name like that. 'T's so sensual it makes me wanna go into the other room with ya."

Once again he laughed dearly.

Brennan couldn't help but genuinely smile. Where else in the world would she have encountered such people? It was very interesting to observe them. The woman was intelligent, and dominant, although she cleverly let her lover believe that he was. Men were weak when it came to gorgeous women.

"Well, shit, this is Greggo, babe! I told you about him, remember? The one who suddenly disappeared and shit. We're bros. Go on hon, say hello."

Esmeralda disentangled herself from Harold's embrace and took a few steps towards Cummings and Brennan, then reached out her hand.

"Lovely to meet you, Greggo."

It seemed her slow, sensual way of moving and speaking had both men mesmerised, for Cummings, also, was practically drooling when he took her hand and placed a kiss on it. Damn it. If she wanted these people to believe she was in love with Greg Furgenson, then this was her cue to take action.

"Harold, hi. I'm Rosa," she said and offered him her hand. He shook it and as he did so, looked her over. She pretended to be flattered when he nodded appreciatively.

"So you're the one holding Greggo's leash these days, huh? Why, why, ain't he lucky."

At that moment, Cummings had woken out of his trance and realised what he was supposed to be doing.

"Ain't she some nice piece of pie, 'Old? Y'll never guess where I found her."

Standing behind her, Cummings placed his hands on her shoulders and rested his chin on her neck.

"Ah! That's right. Y'were speaking of some fairy tale or shit. Let's sit down, man."

As both men proceeded towards the couches, the women looked at each other, a somewhat calculating stare, before breaking into smiles. Esmeralda placed her arm around Brennan's shoulders, her many bracelets clinking in her ear.

"How'ya doin', suga?"

And Rosa was accepted. Esmeralda's voice had changed, it sounded much more like a woman's now instead of a dream's. Brennan could imagine the energy it took to be pretty and sweet-talk men into submissiveness all day long.

"I could use a drink," she answered with a smile and together they joined the men.

Once all seated and sipping their drinks, Cummings told the entirely fantasised story of Greg and Rosa. How Greg had spotted her at a diner and had helped her deal with a bunch of 'horny fifteen-year-olds', after which Rosa had 'greedily' accepted to go on a date. For a week, they had spent every minute of the day—and night, for that matter—together, and lost all sense of time. Rosa's parents didn't approve of their relationship so they'd taken off together, doing some travelling, having some fun. Eventually they'd ended up near Washington so Greg really wanted to pay his old buddies a visit. He might take up his old job again, but he'd have to discuss the matter with Rosa. Of course, she had to like it here if they were going to stay.

After some more drinks and conversation, Cummings casually brought up the matter of Benson's murder.

"Y'hear anything new from that?"

"Not since Delaney left, _Greggo_. Cops been 'round, asking questions an' all, but y'know how 't goes. Everyone goes tight-lips around them suckers, man. And now that ya brought it up, I'd say it be real stupid of Mat to show his ass here again. Since that pretty scientist got _kidded_, ya know, them Federal Bureau of Idiots's pissed, man."

"Right 'Old. I get it."

"Y'do?"

"Oh yes. No shit."

"Anyways, Phoney's moved on."

"She has?"

"Sure thing, she's been dating that asshole Stark now. True believer of Matt's guilt, says she'll blow his nuts off 'em when she gets the chance. So someone asks her, "Why don't blow his brains out, be rid of all the trouble in one shot?" And then she says—and this is real funny— "Why bother shooting at his head? It's all in the same place with him." That woman's freakin' _dangerous_, man. And she's dead serious too, I'm tellin' ya. Watch out man, watch- your- nuts."

Harold laughed heartily at his own pun, repeating the 'dead serious' part a few times, and nudged Cummings' shoulder.

"Hey, hey 'Old, man, I don' know how much ya been smokin', but I was dead serious on the phone too, this mornin'. Remember that?"

_About what? _Brennan, who had been engaged in small talk with Esmeralda, but had made sure to follow the men's conversation too, made a mental note to ask him about the 'serious business' on the phone later.

They stayed for another thirty minutes, until Harold announced it was getting late and he still had some errands to run, but they were welcome to come over for dinner some time. Cummings had tried hard to get information about Matthew Delaney's whereabouts, approaching the subject from different angles, assuming that since it was clear Harold wasn't thinking straight, he wouldn't get suspicious.

However, Esmeralda did. It had taken all Brennan's interrogation skills to not further arouse her suspicions and wave Cummings' interest off as a grisly subject of interest. She even went as far as to conjure up a story about how his obsession with crime and cops had had him buying handcuffs and uniforms to use in the bedroom. Frankly, her own story almost made her sick, so she kept repeating to herself that it was merely another sacrifice for the greater good.

She wondered how many more there were to come before they would get somewhere.

* * *

_**A/N: And? What do you think? We're sorry to confuse you with a nightmare (okay, okay, we aren't really, because we enjoy messing with your suspicions). Mumrulz, thank you for letting us know we achieve exactly what we want with Cummings! And Mandy Renay, that is precisely what we look for in stories, so thank you for the compliments! MariaPim, you made us grin with satisfaction. Unfortunately, FanFiction doesn't allow us to cast spells on certain parts of our chapters.**_

_**Now you probably expect a spoiler for next chapter… Let's just say Booth will pay for a lapse in concentration and there will be –yes, finally- something that might resemble fluff!**_

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	16. Everything's fine

_**A/N: Hello, faithful readers and wonderful reviewers! We're always curious to know what you think about our story so far, and we're always excited to receive new reviews, so thank you for this! We hope you'll like the chapter.**_

* * *

**Chapter 16 – Everything's fine**

He'd got the food himself, from the shop around the corner. Potatoes, French beans and hamburger. The potatoes were peeled and cut on the coffee table and from his chair, Booth was able to use the burners closest to him. Admitted, the cooking technique he was using wasn't one he'd ever let Parker in on, but these were rather desperate circumstances. After a week of eating take-out and not wanting to drop by Sid's because of his, well, his 'damned pride' as Bones so subtly put it, he'd rather not eat than eat from carbon boxes yet again. Everything tasted the same, and he didn't like Chinese food anymore. His stomach had allied with his nose and brains that he wanted Bones back, so how was his right mind supposed to win at this point?

Using the oven cloth to lift the lid off the pan, he noticed the water was boiling, so he slipped the cut potatoes in and decided to do some of the exercises for his legs while he waited. If he practised hard, hopefully there would be another surprise for her when she'd come back. The fact that she wasn't physically essential to him anymore—_aw, wrong choice of words, buddy_—so that logically, she would proceed to stay at her own place, he decided to ignore. Hadn't he decided not to whine anymore?

The exercises exhausted him and wrecked havoc on his good spirit. His muscles were aching, and his butt, too, since he was sitting practically on his bones. Every time he thought about how ridiculous he had to look, he tried to laugh about it. But seriously—it wasn't funny at all. His upper body was toned and in shape, whereas his butt and legs had become skinny with all the decrease in muscle mass. Once again he found himself fighting the whining ghost of self-pity that was trying with all its might to change him, Special Agent Seeley Booth, Partner and Friend of Doctor Temperance Brennan, into a sobbing, pathetic pile of human cells. Man, he could really use one of her wonderful massages right now…

Then an alarming smell suddenly chased the ghost away and had Booth yelling some curses he hoped would never become part of Parker's vocabulary. Jesus, was he trying to kill himself?

_Idiot. IDIOT. Rule number one in cooking: Never give the fire the chance to burn anything. Not the food, and definitely not your kitchen. IDIOT._

After having shot one glance over his shoulder, he was aware of how stupid he had been to leave the oven cloth over the lid of the pan. The cloth had now caught fire and he speeded towards it. First, he reached just far enough to turn open the faucet above the sink. Then, he positioned his chair between the sink and the stove and proceeded to grab the oven cloth. However, from his position in his wheelchair he couldn't reach the side of the cloth that was not yet on fire. So, struck by a wave of urgency and pure adrenaline, he lifted his full weight onto his good leg and grasped the good side of the oven cloth, dropping it into the sink, after which he collapsed on the floor, next to his chair.

"God damnit!"

Right at that moment, the phone started ringing. Of course, the situation called not for the phone to be picked up, but for the gas to be turned off. The water in the sink was also still running, but Booth had no presumption he could reach the faucet. With the gas turned off, he let himself lean heavily against the counter, trying to get his breathing under control.

"Oh my God that was so stupid," he panted. "Jesus Christ."

Once he'd calmed down, he realised he needed to get back into his chair. At his second attempt to haul himself up, it became painfully clear that he just couldn't reach far enough to push himself up on the handles. And the incessant ringing of his phone was working on his nerves, too.

Finally, his answering machine decided to cut him some slack and picked up for him.

"_Booth? It's me."_

The sound of her voice made him freeze. It sounded so unreal. It seemed like such a long time ago when he had seen her last.

"_I didn't think you'd be out… Are you okay? ...You know, it feels really stupid to be talking to your living room, apparently. I—I've never been comfortable talking on answering machines—" _

Rule number one during an undercover mission: Never get in touch with any relatives, friends, or even colleagues. But this was Bones. And the rules never seemed to apply to her, even if they were what she thought she lived by. When he finally realised that it was actually her speaking on the answering machine, ignoring the instructions she had been given, he paused in his attempt to get into his chair and dragged his body towards the phone, using his forearms to push him across the wooden floor. Fearing that anything wrong had happened because of the hesitating tone of her voice, he finally reached the side table and grabbed the device.

"_All right, ehm, please don't call me back on this number. I'm calling from a pay phone. I'll-"_

"Hello?" he groaned.

"_Booth! I thought you were—"_

"Is everything okay?" he cut her off.

"_Yeah, I—It's really good to hear your voice—" _she admitted.

Relieved, he smiled. It was definitely good to be hearing her voice, too. But the hard floor of the living room wasn't the best place to try to have a proper conversation with her.

"Listen, Bones, I'm gonna have to put down the phone for a second, okay? I'll be right back."

"_Is everything okay?"_

He didn't miss the obvious concern in her tone. Was she calling because she was worried about him? Was she breaking the undercover rules for him?

"Eh, yeah. I've just fallen out of my chair because I tried to extinguish the fire so I had to drag myself to the phone when I heard it was you and—Well, it's no big deal, you know. I mean it sounds worse than it is, really, so I'm just gonna—"

He suddenly realised she might not be calling about him. _You stupid..._ It could be something serious. Had Cummings done something? Was she hurt? Upset?

"_Please. Stop talking. What fire? How could you fall out of your chair?"_

Did she miss him? Selfish... Of course she didn't, she had no time to think about anything but her mission.

Was she coming home, maybe?

"It's… well, it's a long story if I continue to lie on the floor like some forgotten toy or something, so if you don't mind I'd like to get into my chair now. I'll put you on speaker."

Booth pushed the button and put the phone back on the table. He dragged himself towards his chair in the kitchen and tried to see the humour in experiencing his living room from this level, but he really couldn't. A solid fist of fear had clasped around his heart. He realised now more than ever, that without his wheelchair he was nothing. He felt like a bug. A human bug crawling over the floor, just waiting to be crushed.

"_Are you in your chair yet? Should I call Derek? By the way, is the fire out? You didn't tell me if it was."_

"Bones, I'm fine, give me a minute here!" Booth called towards the phone.

"_Sorry!"_

Despite the situation, he laughed. That was his Bones all right. Always one to make him laugh at the most inappropriate times.

"_Booth, you should get Parker's step from the bathroom and place it in front of your chair."_

"I'm fine, Bones," he grunted in a reflex. "I don't need you to tell me what—"

"_You sit on the step first so you can reach far enough to push yourself up by the handles of your chair," _she interrupted him, dictating as if she were talking to a person with mental problems. Something she usually did and which always annoyed him. But, sadly, something he realised he missed.

"_Then you turn your body so your butt lands in the seat."_

"Yeah, great plan, Bones," he admitted, mostly to gain some time. "I'll do my best here. Hold on, I'm going to retrieve that step."

At first, his stubbornness made him want to ignore her recommendations, but when after several attempts of doing as _he_ pleased he had to admit he hadn't made any progress, he finally did as she'd told, and this time it wasn't God whom he thanked when he succeeded.

"Bones, you're a genius!" he conceded, but not without a teasing tone. "I mean, I already knew that, but still, thank you."

He had wheeled to the table and picked up the phone, getting it off speaker phone and putting it to his ear again. Somehow it felt more intimate, more secure to have her so close to him, even if it was only her voice. Nothing in his ear except her words.

"You do know that you're not allowed to call anyone, except in case of an emergency, right?" he scolded her gently.

Silence. He damned himself for having said that. As if he wasn't glad to hear from her. Who knew what a risk she might have taken, getting to that pay phone and talking to him… He didn't mean to be insensitive. On the other hand, it was his responsibility to warn her, the best he was able to do for now to protect her. It was her safety at stake.

When she began to speak the concerned tone of her voice had changed into one of agony, almost.

"_Yeah, I know. I just wanted to make sure that—Are you all right?"_

Her breathing was audible.

"Absolutely fine."

"_I should come back Booth. I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone now."_

Being considered a dependent person should have annoyed him, but this time it didn't. There was something in her voice he wasn't used to hearing from her. Insecurity. Not to mention this feeling of guilt towards him that seemed to never leave her, no matter what he said.

"Bones, I'll be fine-"

"_Yeah? Well look at what happened Booth! What if it's the middle of the night and there's a fire? How will you get away fast when you need to? You can't be alone; it's irresponsible. Listen, Cummings could tell everyone we broke up and I could grab a cab and come back to you. It's really no big deal. I could be with you in just a couple of hours."_

He wondered when exactly the haughty and confident Dr Brennan had made way for the anxious Bones that was talking to him on the phone.

"Hey, Bones, calm down. You can't look after me forever. I can take care of myself, now, okay? And practice makes perfect, right?"

Another silence. Then he heard her sigh.

"_I know you told me not to, but I still feel like I'm at least partly responsible for your situation."_

"That's just irrational."

"_I know." _A pause_. "Apparently there's a difference between what I feel and what I know. It's very confusing, I can tell you."_

"You're just experiencing what any normal person would. It's good to hear you so human," he teased her, trying to relieve some of the tension.

"_So you don't want me to come home?"_

He closed his eyes and sighed. He wanted nothing more than for her to come home. He'd have given everything he had to have her here, hear her babbling, watch her cooking. To know that she'd be secure, that she'd feel safe.

"I'd like that very much, Bones. But not before we solve this case. Remember what we agreed on? Nobody's better off with you giving up."

Again, there was a silence, and he feared that from one second to another she'd burst out of sobbing, or say that everything was going wrong out there, or both. But she didn't. Of course not.

"_Yeah… you're right. It's not part of my method to give up."_

"Ah, that's my girl right there. See the both of us, Bones, we have to be patient, hold on. We'll make it out fine. We always have."

"_You're right again."_

Booth could tell she'd calmed down and envisioned her smile.

"Though as happy as I am to be talking to you, Bones, I pretty much think that you should hang up now."

He hated himself for saying that. But he had no choice. Sometimes his partner needed a little protecting from herself.

"If Cullen finds out that you called me..."

"_Yes. I see... To be honest Cummings can return any moment. I didn't think he needed to know I'm calling you."_

"Yeah. Perhaps it's better if he doesn't find out. Gee, Bones. What a rebel you are," he teased, trying to end the conversation on a funny note.

She laughed, the sound warming his heart.

"_I learn from the best."_

At this point, he should have said goodbye. Only he wasn't able to.

"Are you sure everything is all right with Cummings?"

"_Things are fine so far."_

He knew that she was telling the truth, and he felt more reassured.

"_He's actually much easier to handle here than anywhere else."_

"Figures. The guy gets to live his dream; being a crook between other crooks."

Another snicker. If he closed his eyes he could see her face as it had to be now; her blue eyes gleaming with mischief, her lips revealing two rows of perfect, white teeth.

"_You're being sarcastic."_

"Ah, you know, only to some extent." Hanging up was simply impossible. "Where are you with the investigation? Are you still chasing leads or enjoying a paid vacation?"

He envisioned her face as a small laugh came from her lips.

"_To be honest, we've visited nearly all of his friends and enemies but I don't think we've got any further. It seems like Delaney's best friends don't even know where he is. Or if he actually committed the murder, for that matter. I'm starting to think this whole undercover mission is of no use, Booth. I told Cummings how I feel but he gave me no clear indication of his opinion. I also told him about another thing that's been bothering me, but apparently he didn't take it that well…He's just left for the store and that's when I decided to call you."_

"Wait a minute—what's been bothering you?"

"_On our first day here, we visited Harold and Esmeralda. Harold's an old friend of Greg's, and he was getting carried away with the subject of the murder and then Cummings mentioned something about how he shouldn't forget about some sort of 'serious business' he mentioned on the phone earlier. I didn't even know he'd called. At any rate, I later confronted him and he acted very evasive, so I asked him again during breakfast and he reacted very angry all the sudden. I don't know, I guess I'm getting the impression that he's holding out on me." _She paused hesitantly. _"What should I do, Booth?"_

Bones asking him for a piece of advice was something new that should have made him victorious. But this matter was too important, and there was too much at stake, for him to feel satisfied.

"Wow, uhm, well... Do you still trust him enough to stay? Do you want to stop, or give it another go?"

"_Honestly, if some new lead doesn't come up soon I'm quitting. Then I'd be more valuable in my lab, going over the evidence, see if something slipped my attention before."_

He ran his hand through his hair nervously. Fortunately, she couldn't see that. It would definitely worry her.

"I hardly think that's possible, but I can see where you're coming from. Do what you believe is best, okay? I trust your judgement. I trust you."

She didn't say anything but he felt she had regained some confidence.

"Hey, I'm glad you called, by the way. Believe it or not, I miss your bossy, rational personality around the house."

"_I'm sure you do. Your cocky, nagging being hasn't left me uncaring either," _she retorted, and he let out a quiet laugh.

When had he begun to smile at every word of her, to shiver at hearing her voice, especially when it was almost smoky and laced with emotion; to feel alone when she wasn't around? When had it all started, thinking of her like that, feeling this way about her?

"Why, was that a compliment there or have I misunderstood?"

"_You certainly haven't. Oh. Booth—I have to go. Cummings is back. It was nice talking to you. Take care. I'll call you later if I get the chance."_

Before he was able to say goodbye, she'd hung up, and Booth slowly brought the phone down into his lap.

At least she was okay, thank _God_.

* * *

_**A/N: Aren't they sweet? In the next chapter, there will be news about the case. The story is starting to pick up speed from now on. If you only knew what we have planned for the next part of Never Say Never… Chapter seventeen also includes a big revelation for someone and an ending that will leave you gasping for breath…**_


	17. Hope for the best

_**A/N: Aaaaaaaaaaaand it's Sunday! We present to you a lengthier chapter than the previous and thank you again for your kind words. We must say it's lovely to know you're guessing and speculating… But the chapters that will explain everything are near… Curious yet? Good! Read further to find out how Brennan's call and the accidental fire have influenced Booth's spirit and what they've made him do. Good reading!**_**Chapter 17 – Hope for the best**

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**Chapter 17 – Hope for the best**

So it appeared that she wasn't having that much fun, after all.

Of course not.

The boring and strict Doctor Brennan much preferred the silence and coldness of her sterilised lab over of the dark, dirty streets of this part of DC. It was logical. Obviously, the word 'fun' wasn't part of this woman's vocabulary. How can anybody possibly enjoy leaning over boring bones all day? Anyway, if everything went fine, and he had no doubt it would, she'd never have the opportunity to do her unexciting job again.

She'd die by his hands. Not as the proud, confident, strong woman she appeared to be. She'd die alone, and lost, and terrified, just like the people whose stories she strived to dig up. And maybe, one day, she, too, would be a skeleton on an examination table. The irony of this idea made him smile. But if this day was to come, she'd be forgotten for a long time, and he'd be far away.

So she didn't like pretending to be a woman that she wasn't. Obviously, she wasn't comfortable wearing short and tight clothes, and talking street slang wasn't her thing either. Who did she think she'd fool? Not him, in any case. He could read her so well. She was so predictable, and such a bad liar.

So she wanted to shorten her little role playing? No big deal, really. He would only make an adjustment to his initial plan. It would imply more risks, of course, but no risk he wasn't ready to take.

She was smart, but not smart enough. He was creative; he would always find a way to get what he wanted.

* * *

She was busy baking eggs in the kitchen, wishing that this was Booth's kitchen and she was making dinner for him. Then, they'd probably watch a movie and—Wait; what was she now, his wife? Since when had she started to wish for this kind of life? And since when had she begun to think of her partner as—As what? Her thoughts turned to Angela, and she smiled at what would be her friend's reaction if she could read her thoughts right now.

Suddenly, somebody jammed the key into the lock, turned it, pushed open the door so hard it flew against the wall and entered the living room. She turned sharply at the noise.

"What, are you going to attack me with that?" Cummings said, and nodded his head towards her right hand.

Coming from the only one she accepted to call her partner, she would have found that funny, but it was only this man she despised and just couldn't bring herself trust entirely, so she merely frowned.

"Uhm, no. I'm not going to attack you," she answered simply. "As you can see, I'm cooking."

Realising she was holding the spatula like she would a knife, she turned back to the counter and put it down beside the stove, simultaneously turning off the gas before tucking her hair behind her ear and turning back to Cummings. He was looking rather dishevelled, his blond hair sticking to his scalp, his green eyes piercing hers and his voice holding a nervous, excited undertone.

"Temperance—"

She hated him pronouncing her first name. There was something in the way he said it that always made her want to slap him. But for the sake of their investigation, she had made a promise to herself: Let him be until, at last, their undercover mission was over.

"Temperance?" he repeated as she wasn't answering.

He had obviously rushed to their apartment. He opened his coat to cool down and dark circles of perspiration stained his shirt under his arms and around his neck.

"What's wrong?"

"I must show you something—Come on, get your tool bag," he said breathlessly and went to get her coat.

Bothered but her curiosity piqued, Brennan threw one last look of pity at the egg in the pan and then rushed towards her bedroom, grabbing the bag she usually took to work without checking its contents. That she could do on the way to wherever it was they were going.

What had he found, again? Another important piece of evidence that seemed too good to be true? It had to be something to do with the case, otherwise he wouldn't be acting like this, right? If it was actually a lead, were they going to find Delaney, at last? Were they about to leave this place?

A smile crossed her features. She hoped so.

"Are you coming?"

Cummings' impatient call urged her into movement and she quickly joined him, dropping her bag in the corridor as he closed and locked the door behind her. She picked up her coat and shrugged it on while he snatched her bag away and set a hurried pace towards the stairwell.

"So, what have you found, Leo?"

She didn't bother with his undercover name. The walls were thick and there was no one here, anyway.

"Rosa, honey, I know how ya hate surprises so I'm just gonna tell ya."

Talking street talk had become ingrained in his system. First she had been thoroughly annoyed; now she hardly noticed anymore.

They'd reached the last step and both skipped it, landing on the floor and making their way outside.

"Greg, slow down!" she called as he passed her. Luckily, he stopped and waited for her to catch up.

"Don't run or we'll arouse suspicion, Greg. Even I know that," she hissed and wound her arm through his. By this time, out of habit. Even if she couldn't help thinking that it didn't feel the same as in Vegas with Booth.

Their car was parked inside a secured garage a few blocks away. Leaving it outside at night would be like inviting trouble. Sure, the FBI could provide them with another vehicle within a very short time, but Greg and Rosa wouldn't be able to get a new car over night, and _that's _what made undercover work so complicated, preparations as well as the execution. Everything had to fit, nothing could remain unexplained. This is what Brennan had learned very soon. Plus they could hardly buy any food because about fifty per cent of their money had to be spent on drugs. After all, they needed to talk to dealers and part of Cummings' cover was being a junkie.

"So tell me," she demanded impatiently as soon as they were buckled up.

"No. Guess," he smirked as he peered through the window, turning their beater of a car onto the road.

"I'm a scientist. I don't guess. Tell me."

"All right, all right, hush hush. I found Delaney's car this mornin'. And guess what?"

"I already told you; I don't guess."

"There's blood in the trunk."

She stopped in surprise.

"How much?"

"Just enough to tell that Benson-boy must of had a few scratches on him when he was thrown in."

She couldn't help being annoyed by his smile. What was he, a child who had just found a little car buried in the ground? This was not a game. This wasn't 'cool'. This was a serious murder investigation.

"I'll take samples and send them to the FBI. Anything else?"

"Yes."

She lost her patience when he didn't explain quickly enough.

"What, Cummings?"

"Ouch, don't start using the last name on me, baby."

"Don't start using the infant reference on me, _Leonard_."

"_Unbelievable. _Cigarette butts, ma'am."

"Good! So now we probably have Delaney's DNA to match it against the DNA retrieved from his apartment, and the victim's DNA in the trunk, which should also turn up a match. Nice work, Leo. How did you find the car?"

"Oh you know. Went for a ride this morning, noticed the sucker tucked behind a group of trees somewhere, figured I might as well check it out. Recognised it as Delaney's."

"How?"

"Plates, baby."

* * *

Even if he did his best not to let it show, and although he was aware it was necessary, Booth hated these physical therapy sessions. It was mostly painful, always discouraging, and somehow humiliating. So when his phone rang, it felt to him like a relief, a welcome break.

"I'm really sorry. I have to take that if it's someone from the Bureau."

"I understand, Mr Booth. Shall I hand it to you?"

Josephine helped him back in his chair and walked gracefully towards the coat and jeans in the corner.

"Please. It's in the right pocket of my jeans."

He was panting softly from the exertion. Since Bones had called he'd recovered his spirit and was progressing at a tremendous rate. His physical therapist, Josephine Jacob, had had her mouth falling open when he rose from his chair for the first time. She'd called it 'truly amazing' and complimented him on his strong will, asking him if anything specific had occurred that might be responsible for this leap forward. He'd told her about the fire and that the situation had been a blow in his face and an epiphany at the same time. Plus, he missed his old life and was willing to do almost anything to get it back. Yes, he was aware that a hundred per cent of the people in his situation had the same desire, but it wasn't like he had a rational explanation.

No, nothing rational; it was all matters of the heart. He loved spending time alone with Parker, he felt proud to be working with Bones, his independence caused him to feel confident and his work gave his self_-_esteem a boost. There was just no way would he survive losing all that. That said; he believed that his recovery was also a message from God, telling him he hadn't finished what he was doing, encouraging him to move on no matter what obstacles crossed his path. He had a duty to protect and defend his family, his partner and his country. Even a spinal cord injury couldn't get in the way of fulfilling his destiny.

The blond-haired therapist retrieved the beeping device and handed it to her patient, who had settled in his chair.

"Ah, thank you."

His face flushed when he read the name on the screen. He had to admit that he had been secretly hoping that it would be her calling, even if his mind knew that it was unlikely. And just like the last time, he felt himself torn between happiness and dread, his stomach knotted with both excitement and dread. What if something had gone wrong? What if they were after her, now? What if she was injured? What if she needed him and he couldn't help her? What if--

"I'll give you some privacy," the therapist said with an understanding smile. "I'll be back in a few."

"Yeah. Yeah, thank- you."

Josephine had already disappeared behind a white door. Subconsciously holding his breath, he picked up and as soon as he lifted the phone to his ear, he was able to hear her voice. And he was able to breathe again when he noted that she was speaking a mile a minute and sounded quite excited. Relief let him relax and he smiled for himself. She was always so sedate, that hearing her right now was weird, amusing and touching. It had to be important; now he was getting curious.

"_Are you there yet? Booth?"_

"Yes Bones, always at your service. What's all the fuss about? Everything okay there?"

"_We have a lead," _she summarised, sounding breathless.

"Wha-ho, that's great! What kind of lead?"

"_Delaney's car. I've got Benson's blood and Delaney's DNA, most presumably. When I checked the dashboard, there were some maps. I haven't had the chance to take a good look at them, because the feds told us not to touch anything after they opened the car."_

"Since when do you use the word 'feds'?"

"_Wha-- I don't know, it's just a word," _she retorted, and he smiled at the look that had to be on her face. He knew it too well.

"_But Booth-- this may mean that we're leaving this place. We may track down Delaney now."_

"I know Bones, it's really good news."

"_Actually it was Cummings who found the car."_

His grin suddenly froze. "Again? Ah, bummer. How? Where?"

"_He told me he was driving around this morning and spotted it behind a group of trees. It's not far from where Benson's remains were found, actually."_

"I bet Cummings's even more pleased with himself now," he groaned. He had never seen the guy, but it didn't keep him from having a well-formed picture of him. And it wasn't the picture of a trustful man.

"_He's… proud of his discovery to say the least. Yes. This morning he walked in all jumpy and excited, telling me to get my things. He wouldn't say what he'd found until we reached the garage and got in the car. That was quite annoying. At least we have a lead."_

He repressed a sigh. She needed him to support her, to make her think everything was fine. "At least you do."

"_Where are you by the way?"_

"At physical therapy, with Josey."

"_Really? Please tell her I said hi. How are your legs?"_

"Well, you'll be surprised when you get home."

"_Oh, come on Booth. Tell me. I hate surprises-- What? Sorry, I have to go. I'll call you if we get anything new."_

Booth lowered his cell phone onto his lap and remained thoughtful until Josephine emerged from the room behind the white door, carrying armfuls of massage oil bottles.

"Had to get these anyway," she smiled. "So was it good news? Or not? You seem so thoughtful."

"Good news, I guess," he said, forcing a smile. "It's a complicated case."

"Well now, let's forget about complicated cases for a while and focus on your exercises."

And, as usual, he did his best. But this time, more than the other times, it was hard to chase away his worries and the mental image of Bones to concentrate on the right movements he had to make if he wanted to be her partner again.

* * *

He glanced at the alarm clock on his night table and sighed. 3 am. Great. Now he wasn't even able to sleep. Rubbing his face with his hands, he decided there was no sense in continuing to lie in bed and study the ceiling, waiting for some peace of mind that would never come. As long as his gut was making its otherwise appreciated presence known he wasn't getting any shut-eye. But what was it telling him? The nagging feeling had been growing stronger and stronger since Bones' phone call that afternoon.

Okay, now that he had admitted to himself that it had something to do with his partner, he couldn't stay in bed any longer. He had to think. He always listened to his gut, and his gut was never wrong. There had to be something that wasn't right, wasn't logical, didn't fit. It would probably be a small thing that was easily overlooked, yet formed the opportunity to gaining the view of a bigger picture. It might seem hard to figure out what this detail was, but he had succeeded many times before. It was his job to notice what others wouldn't. Bones, she used her eyes and her extensive factual knowledge that wouldn't fit on a computer. And he, he used his ability to read people and understand them, spotted hidden motives, created timelines in his head, and paid attention to the details.

He knew it was right there, already in his mind. Now he had to put his finger on what it was, exactly. And to do this, he had to start from the beginning and go over everything he had learned about the case. Maybe it was something entirely new, like Delaney's car; but then maybe it was a small piece of the puzzle which caused him to finally get the picture.

The silence in his house and the dim lighting made for a good atmosphere to gain some insight. Booth threw back the covers and sat up, then helped his legs over the edge of the bed. He made sure his feet were solidly on the floor and under his knees before he stood up. Finally, the world looked familiar again. Had it been up to him, he would have walked towards the living room, but his body –and Josey- insisted that he do no more exercises today, so he sank into his wheelchair.

The coffee machine sounded like bombing as it came to life, and it seemed the plastic cover of the biscuits made ten times more noise than usual. The sounds were more piercing, more articulate when there was nothing else to hear.

He was sitting on Bones' spot on the couch and took small sips from the steaming hot liquid in his mug. He could have a biscuit when he'd think of his first reason to assume something was off. To his gut it was pretty obvious, but unlike what Bones thought, it didn't have the ability to communicate its inklings very clearly.

Ninety minutes and two biscuits later, he finally received an intelligible reaction from his gut. He was on the right track, he just didn't know where it would lead him yet. Actually, now that he'd thought about it, it seemed pretty stupid that it hadn't been his first thought. Of course, he should have known from the beginning, but it had been Bones and her logic that he had listened to, and he had ignored his gut. He even was aware why. Not because he had suddenly converted from his belief in His Gut to the Rationalism and Logic of Dr Brennan, but because he had mistaken his gut for his heart.

The truth was that he had assumed he was just being jealous and protective. The reality was that his mistake had been caused by his feelings for her. He may pretend this reality hit him hard, but it was inevitable and frankly, he had already started to admit it. Yet he'd never used the words… He had himself trapped. Either he had ignored his gut on purpose and thereby put his partner's life in danger, or he was in love with Bones.

_Damn. How could this happen? How could I _let _this happen? She's my partner. And she isn't even my type! I'm attracted to _blond _women, to women who read _fashion_ magazines, who will be insecure about their looks, always, no matter what I tell them. I'm attracted to women who come to _me_. There's never been a challenge, we've always _agreed _on the most important matters in life._

_Except my job, maybe._

As he sat there, wide-eyed on the couch, his coffee mug hovering in front of his parted lips, he realised that when he thought about her, he wasn't able to detect any shift in his feelings at all. Apparently it was only his brain that hadn't caught up yet.

_Okay, so maybe I have two types. Do I love Bones? Of course you do, you idiot. But I never thought in this way… Oh dear God, help me…_

And it felt so frustrating to be lying there, feeling useless, powerless about his feelings, unable to relax, and aware that calling God for help wouldn't be enough to provide him with a happily ever after.

* * *

Contentedly, she took another bite from her bread with eggs and cheese and read the paper. Today was the first day she'd woken up feeling truly like herself again. The lingering effects of her illness had disappeared, she'd had no trouble falling asleep, no trouble _staying _asleep, and felt energetic. She should be hearing from the lab either this morning or this afternoon, depending on whether they had put a rush on the tests or not, and she was counting on that they had. Better yet, Cullen would be calling Cummings about the maps they'd found in Delaney's car. If they held enough information to track him down, they would be out of here shortly.

Finally, she might go back home. She would go back to her lab, to her office, to her co-workers. She really missed Angela. She couldn't wait to see Booth. He'd mentioned a surprise. Maybe he could move both legs now. His recovery would mean the world to her. Not because it would ease her guilt, but because Booth deserved to get his life back. He deserved several times his life back, for he'd saved hers more than once.

She wondered if he'd ever know how much he meant to her. He probably didn't realise how all of his random acts of kindness and his big gestures of appreciation made her feel. Special, cared for, like she could be valuable just because of whom she was. Not just because of what she did. Other men had liked her because they thought she was an interesting woman and, she wasn't going to deny this, for the sexual gratification she could give them. That was a mutual thing. But she had never been able to connect with them, to have them understand her, to have them offer her what she needed without her asking for it first. She had accepted this years ago. She used to think that she was just too complicated for people who hadn't gone through what she had, and she was fine with it.

Now, she was forced to admit that it wasn't that fine. That despite her constantly denying it, she needed more. That even if it made her cringe, she was a regular woman, who needed care, and acknowledgement. And love. Somehow, in a subtle way, Booth seemed to know all these things about her that no one had cared to find out before. It had startled her at first, causing her to turn inward as to give him no inkling whatsoever. Yet, she had got curious and created peepholes in her walls of safety. Who was this man; how did he do it? How could he affect her? Perhaps he could answer some questions about herself, maybe she could learn from him. Every time she looked, she'd always found him staring back at her with a smile.

"I'll be in the shower."

Cummings ambled past her with his towel over his shoulder and his hair sticking out in all directions. After her first shower here, she'd understood that the warm water supply was _very _limited and so she'd beat him to the shower every following morning. He hadn't commented on it, which told her he was defeated and annoyed by it.

She smiled sweetly.

"See you soon."

He shot her a glare and disappeared behind the door.

Then her cell phone started ringing. Luckily, it was right next to her plate, so the sound wouldn't deteriorate Cummings' mood even more. He cursed her ring tone every time he heard it. No good enough reason for her to change it.

"Brennan."

"_Bones. It's me."_

She recognised Booth's voice. Was it concern in his tone?

"Oh. I thought it'd be the lab-"

"_Are you alone?"_

She chuckled.

"Yes, for about… five minutes. He's in the shower. Why?"

He sounded rather on edge, and something had shifted in his voice. Her chest tightened at his next words and the feeling of being unsafe came rushing back full force at her.

"_Temperance, there's something I need you to do. Please do exactly as I say, as soon as you can."_

* * *

_**A/N: Well well well, a cliffhanger. The forum's opened; what is Booth going to tell Brennan to do? A date with Agent Booth for the one who guesses it ;) . We're very sorry but we can't give you any spoilers about chapter eighteen because it would give away the cliffhanger. So have a good week and we promise a gripping chapter eighteen.**_


	18. Upon trust

A/N: No, your eyes do not betray you

_**A/N: So, finally you get to know what Booth is going to ask his partner to do. One of the reasons why this chapter's called "Upon trust" is that our favourite forensic anthropologist will have to have a blind trust towards her partner. But isn't it already the case? Good reading!**_

_--_

**Chapter 18 – Upon trust**

"_What are you talking about?"_

Her voice trembled and he felt so guilty for making her feel unsafe. But this was, ironically, for her own safety. He sighed deeply.

"Okay, I'll explain it to you but I'm not going to make it in five minutes. Can't you tell Cummings you're going for a walk or something? Do you have somewhere safe to go, somewhere we can't be overheard?"

"_Ehm, yes. Sure. Just a minute."_

He ran his fingers through his hair in a way that he did when he was nervous while he heard a chair being pushed backwards. He was just able to make out the brief conversation between Bones and Cummings.

"_Leo? I'm going for a walk."_

"_All right. Who's on the phone? That damned ring tone of yours assaults my ears mercilessly!"_

"_It's the lab. They need a little more time."_

"_Ah yeah? Then gimme the damned phone, there's something I need to explain to them."_

_There was a noise, and Booth figured that Cummings was trying to take the cell phone fromf her hands._

"_No," she squealed. "It's my people and my part of the job, okay? They said they'd call me back later, anyway. So, bye!"_

Booth smiled. _That's my girl._

Footsteps, then the creaking of a door. The closing of a door. Steps on concrete.

"_Booth? I'm almost outside. The place I know is three blocks away, but I shouldn't be seen on the phone. I shouldn't even be seen without 'Greg' at all. Let me call you back when I get there."_

"Will you be okay?"

"_Of course. Bye for now."_

It seemed like hours had passed before she called him back. When she started talking, he knew that she had pushed aside her emotions and had settled in her **insensitive, **scientific mode.

"Bones? You okay?"

"_Yeah, I'm listening now.____Talk to me Booth. What did you find out?"_

"Where are you?"

"_In the car, at the garage. There's no one here."_

"Very clever, Bones. Listen, what I'm about to tell you is based on Cummings' file which I never had permission to look into, you understand?"

"_Yes. I won't tell anyone."_

"Okay. Leonard Cummings was employed at Narcotics from May 2001 till October this year. He participated in several undercover missions, but his last one caused him to get fired by his boss, Edgar Morassi. He'd been given three months to get integrated and telling from his own statement, he was. Yet he was able to give only a little bit of information on the drugs gangs and Morassi pulled him out after three months and two weeks."

"_And this is relevant why?"_

"It was the first time Cummings was unable to provide the FBI with anything useful so that aroused lots of suspicion."

"_I can see that, though there could of course be rational explanations as well."_

"Not this time, Bones. Guess at which mission he decided to go dirty cop?"

"_He's a dirty cop?"_

"Obviously."

"_Don't they have evidence of that?"_

"Do you think they would have merely given him the sack if they had? They're not that stupid. Now I called Edgar Morassi this morning and confronted him with the file. Told him I worked at Internal Affairs. He claimed there was nothing he could have done but fire Cummings."

"_That's ridiculous. He could have had the case investigated."_

"Uh-huh, my point exactly."

"_So what did he have to say?"_

"That he wanted to save the FBI's face and reputation. And of course, his own, though he forgot to mention that little part. He figured the media would find out about the investigation within seconds and no one would ever be able to infiltrate in the Washington underworld again, 'cause that's the mission he screwed up, Bones. Your mission. Those people you've been visiting there, they're probably Cummings' _real _friends."

Booth figured he'd give her a moment to comprehend all that he'd said, but she caught up quicker than he anticipated. Naturally.

"_So what you're saying is…"_

"He was still undercover at the time Benson was murdered. And that's not even all of it. The reason he was sent undercover is that a female colleague of his reported him for stalking and attempted sexual assault. Apparently Cummings was one of his best agents, so Morassi didn't want to lose him. He should have just kicked out his perverted ass, but instead he gave Cummings a choice: either resign or accept one of the hardest undercover assignments. You see, he didn't want to go undercover there, no one did. He must have been angry at his boss, at the Bureau altogether. It would make him very vindictive."

"_So you think Cummings switched sides and is covering for Delaney because he's mad at the FBI? You think that he'll try to harm me on behalf of his friend?" _She gave a mirthless laugh. _"Booth, that's hardly possible. If Leo wanted to hurt me, he could have done so a million times already."_

"Bones, stop calling the guy 'Leo'; he's not your friend, all right?" He had been about to add, "And he's not your partner," when he realised how tough he was being on her. So he merely softened his tone. "And you're wrong. It's likely, even. Being undercover with you is just foreplay to him, and he'll want to make it last for as long as he can stretch it."

"_That doesn't make sense; why would he wait long enough for someone to figure out what he's really up to?"_

"Well Bones, that sort of defines what a nut job like him does. He's nuts. By all means don't even try to understand him. No normal person ever will."

He gave her a moment to let all this sink in before he continued. He needed to tell her what his gut had been trying to **convey** since her phone call about Delaney's car.

"_Okay. Go on."_

"The thing is, evidence keeps popping up whenever it's convenient for Cummings. First the murder weapon, to make his big entrance into the case and win people's trust and respect. Then, Delaney's car, right when you were thinking about quitting. You told me how excited he was about his find; then why did he go to the trouble of parking his car at the garage and then walked to the apartment? Unless he was actually calm and calculating and needed to look dishevelled so you'd believe he was as surprised as you, why wouldn't he park the car in front of the door? There are no coincidences in a murder case, Bones."

She was quiet for a moment. He could feel her hesitation between what her head was telling her and what her partner was assuring her. He prayed for her to listen to the latter.

"_What do you want me to do?"_

Relief washed through him. She trusted him. She had chosen his gut over her head. It meant the world to him.

"Well first and foremost we need to get you out of there. I'll send a car to pick you up at a time and place you'll choose, but you have to be discrete. It's best if nobody sees you and of course, Cummings can't suspect a thing for a while after you've left."

"_That would be between… dawn and seven. The dealers will be off the street and Cummings usually doesn't wake up until seven-thirty, eight o'clock. If for any reason the plan will fail, I'll have to be able to get back before he's up, or at least have a good excuse for going out."_

He couldn't help feeling amazed by this woman, as often. How could she talk about all this as if she wasn't the one concerned?

"You could pretend to be getting something special for breakfast? If you have to abort you could always show up with _croissants_ or something."

"_I agree. I'm not safe, right?"_

Again, she asked him without a hint of emotion in her voice, like a fact she needed him to verify.

"No. You're not. Not yet. I'm sorry. But you will be very soon."

"_I'll be there tomorrow, Booth. Don't worry."_

Her voice wasn't trembling; it was steady and confident, and he felt ashamed to be the one safe, yet the one needing reassurance.

"There will be a car waiting for you at dawn. You'll recognise it. If it doesn't work tomorrow, it'll be there the day after."

"_Booth?"_

"Yes?"

"_Is there anything else? Because I should head back now."_

"No. I think this about covers it. If anything changes I'll call you. See you tomorrow, Bones."

"_Yeah. See you tomorrow."_

--

She noticed her hands were shaking when she pressed the button on her cell phone. In fact, her whole body started to tremble as if she was chilling from the cold. Was it fear? Damn, she couldn't step into that apartment like this. She really needed to pull herself together. If anything, she had to look fresh and rested. She closed her eyes and leaned back in the seat.

_Oh God… _She thought. _How am I going to calm down?_

She tried breathing in and out slowly and focused on her ribs expanding and sinking. She tried counting as she did so. She tried projecting the Fibonacci numbers in her mind but her thoughts were racing and she couldn't seem to slow them down. Not even by using Maths. She envisioned a skeleton and whispered the name of every single bone. But nothing she did made her more relaxed. Actually, the trembling had stopped, but she was tense now. Rigid.

If Booth were here, what would he tell her?

_I can't… I can't- I can't go back…_

Her mind was panicking, but for once she couldn't let it take over.

_Come on, think about Booth. You'll see him very soon. It's just one night. …If everything goes well. But it will. Come on Brennan, you're a rational thinker. Eventually this will end. Eventually you'll be safe._

She imagined Booth's voice murmuring encouraging words to her. That had been a wrong idea though, because it only made her want to cry. She had to come up with something else. Quickly.

Wait a minute. She could encourage herself. She didn't need Booth for that. She didn't need anyone to calm her. Self-control was her trademark. She could take on Cummings. She could take on Delaney, too, if she got the chance. And Booth's gut would tell him if something was wrong, and he would come get her.

Then, out of nowhere it seemed, a solution presented itself. It was like a beam of light piercing through the tiny hole of positivism she had created in the thick curtain of dark feelings. The one thing that had always managed to calm her down… her father's voice singing the old song _Keep On Tryin'_ to her. It was a clear memory and the features of her father's softly smiling face gave her a secure feeling.

"_I've been drinking out, just a little too much,_

_And I don't know how I can get in touch with you_

_There's only one thing for me to do and that's to keep on tryin'_

_To get home to you…"_

She sang to herself softly and imagined her father's voice was joining hers. Finally, she felt her muscles relax and her body settle in the seat. She was going to be okay now.

The walk back to the apartment did her good. The frozen air cooled her hot face and the exercise regulated the beating of her heart. The song was still playing in her head. It was perfect. Both her father and Booth had sung it to her, once. They had both been the men who had given her strength and who encouraged her perseverance. They respected her because she'd earned their respect. Now, she felt confident that she could live up to their expectations.

A few minutes later she knocked on the now familiar red door and smiled as Cummings opened it; composure regained. He **narrowed** his eyes at her, turning them into larvae. At first she felt a dull wave of shock deep inside her, then it dissipated. All this without her moving a muscle to give herself away.

"Did you want to burn off calories or somethin'? You've been away for like thirty minutes!" he scolded her.

She simply shrugged.

"I needed some air, Greg. This place is very… musty." She nodded at him and smiled again, pushing past his frame and hanging up her coat beside the door. "It's freezing outside."

"Yeah, well I can see that from in here," he yawned and closed the door behind her. "You must be into masochism that you're going out voluntarily with these temperatures. You must be crazy."

_Not nearly as crazy as you, _she thought.

"But you'll always be my Rosa," he chuckled.

Suddenly at his words, at his tone, a cold fist closed itself around her. What the hell was she still doing here, in this apartment where cockroaches squirmed in the sinks, where the heating worked poorly, and where a maniac was sleeping in the room next to hers? The things he might have done… The things he could still do… What he was probably planning on doing to her…

She felt nauseous and the colour was drained from her face when she felt his hand on her shoulder from behind. The hand of a murderer's accomplice. A hand that had to move only a few inches and could close around her throat and cut off her oxygen supply with an iron grip. A hand that could pin her down while the other one stabbed or shot her to death on the dirty floor. Yes, she could take him by surprise and attack him first, but Booth had always told her not to take any risks when it came to dealing with criminals. Never initiate a fight. It sounded easier than it was. She would be expecting him to make the first move at every moment now and if he did she had to be prepared. She couldn't let her guard down. Not for a second.

She tensed up and didn't dare turn, she didn't trust her face right now, couldn't give herself away. That she knew, that she was anticipating, that she was running…

"There's another friend I'd like to visit today. He's just come back in town. Y'up for it?"

_He's a fraud. He's a fraud! He wants to kill me!_

"Sure."

At last, his hand slipped from her shoulder, and she could breathe again.

"Let me just eat something before we go."

She had to get away from him for a moment, just be in another room. She wished for Booth to come get her right now. She hoped she would hear a lot of noise in the living room and turn and find him staring at her, the door kicked in and Cummings at his feet, Booth's gun aimed at his head. She wished Booth was his old self again, physically strong, and that he'd take her hand and run away with her, to go home with him.

And tonight… She was already exhausted by the pile of information Booth had given her and her constant agony only made matters worse. Her senses had to be alert and ready to ring the alarm, and it took so much energy to hold that up.

"Is something wrong?"

She turned around sharply and saw him leaning his side against the wall.

"No. Why would there be?"

He shrugged.

"It's just that y'seem a little tense, that's all."

"Oh. Yeah, it might be the weather. I have a headache." She tried to smile but failed miserably.

"Maybe you should get a little shut-eye before we leave." He would never know how welcome his suggestion was.

"Yes. That sounds like a good idea. For how long? An hour?"

"An hour sounds fine, yeah."

She gratefully disappeared into the bedroom. Once the door was closed behind her, she kicked off her boots and fell onto the bed. It creaked and huffed in protest but she paid no attention to it. The blankets had her warmed up within a minute and she closed her eyes. The images that appeared startled her.

They were snippets of the first time she got abducted by Delaney. She remembered the cold night air, how her breath had come out and formed clouds of condensation. Her quick steps on the pavement as she was rushing through the cold. She had worked late that Friday, so she would be able to finish up a skeleton the next morning and then join Booth to talk about the Benson case. All she knew was that she'd never heard him coming. It had been a total surprise and even now she couldn't remember what exactly had happened. That meant she had to have sustained a head-injury or had been drugged. It was all just… foggy.

She then remembered coming home after the first time she'd worked late again and walked towards her car alone in the darkness. She had stepped in and closed the door behind her, somehow her heart was still pounding in her chest, and she found Booth waiting for her, as always.

"_What's wrong?"_

"_Nothing, I- I mean it was just that- my car was parked in the same spot as when I got abducted and it's Friday and I worked late so I had to go outside alone and it… may have been a _little_ scary. I… was nervous. Bad memories, I guess."_

_For a moment the both of them were quiet. It was difficult for her to admit to being less strong than she wanted to be._

"_Do you want coffee?" asked Booth, who understood that his partner needed some time to settle down and shake the fear off of her._

"_Wine."_

"_Great. We're getting drunk tonight."_

"_Yeah, maybe we are."_

_Brennan declined the dinner she was offered and instead took an apple to the couch. Like the night before, she helped Booth get onto the couch as well. With a certain technique it worked because he was able to put weight on his left leg now. Sitting on the couch together was just cosier than him sitting in his wheelchair. Booth had apparently lit some candles and put on jazz music, and Brennan felt herself relax. Booth had his arm on the back of the couch behind her and she instinctively moved a little closer to him._

"_Hey Bones, now that you brought it up, I'd like to apologise for what happened that Friday."_

"_Booth, really, it's fi-"_

"_Not only for that I didn't protect you. Also for the fight we had. I shouldn't have got on your nerves when I knew how hard you'd been working. As a matter of fact I actually started the discussion on purpose, but I never thought you'd get that upset."_

"_It's okay."_

"_No, I just wanted to let you know I'm sorry about that. You know. I had no right to."_

_His arm was now bent and his fingertips brushed her arm. She leaned a little to the right. She didn't know why. The physical contact just felt nice, comforting._

"_I'm sorry too."_

"_You don't have to be, it was my fault."_

"_Not only about that fight. Also about the fact that I wasn't able to prevent it all from happening. I am a black belt in three types of martial arts, Booth. It's my _responsibility _to stay out of their hands. If I had fought harder, or at all- I don't recall exactly what happened- then I would have saved you so much trouble. All of you. I'm very sorry for that."_

"_Bones, hey."_

_He caught her gaze and touched his finger to her chin, raising her head. The look on her face was stubborn, but he could see the cracks in her façade._

"_The whole world is not on your shoulders, okay? You can't blame yourself for these things."_

"_Hypocrite," she whispered and smiled. "All you ever do is feeling guilty about things you were forced to do or simply couldn't prevent from happening. And now you expect me not to."_

"_Damn your logic, Temperance Brennan," he teased and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pressing her against him. They both laughed._

_--_

Did she think that he was an idiot? That he wouldn't bother keeping an eye on her, that he'd let her have these little private phone calls? Did she think that he'd never know whom she was talking with? And did she believe that he'd never know what they were talking about? Clearly, he had underestimated her. But the bitch hadn't been careful enough either. It had been easy to check her cell phone and to find out that she had given Agent Seeley Booth two calls this morning. One short one, and a long one. And what could they possibly have to discuss that he, an agent himself and her new partner, couldn't hear? Exactly. Him.

A wave of anger washed through him. Someone was helping her from the outside. Then his thin lips stretched into a slight smirk. This someone was in a wheelchair; this someone wouldn't even stand a chance against him. No proof, nothing. He had made sure to cover his tracks. Doubt assaulted him. Had he? Breathe in. Sure. Breathe out. He had prepared this in a perfectly meticulous way. As he always did.

Suddenly, he got to his feet and entered the bathroom discretely. Pricking up his ears to make sure she hadn't come back yet, he opened the cupboard and grabbed a bottle which he hid in the drawer of his nightstand.

He had never actually liked to kill. He had simply done it out of need, mechanically, and he had never taken pleasure in it. It left him indifferent. Sometimes he had even been sorry for that. After all, he was just a regular man struggling to gain a pleasurable existence: Money, success, and a beautiful wife. That was all he had ever asked for.

No, he wasn't a born killer. _She_ had made him into that. An injured man seeking for revenge was what she had turned him in; a wounded animal ignoring the pain, stalking his prey. And he had to confess that little by little, he had begun to enjoy the foreplay more than he had had to; that he had ended up finding this delightful; and that now, he was truly disappointed that it had to come at it's end.

But that's the way it is, and nothing lasts forever. Nothing, including smart, annoying forensic anthropologists.

_--_

_**A/N: The story is taking on speed now. There will be a little bit of fluff in the next chapter… -but just a little. We'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. See you next week!**_


	19. Escape

_**A/N: Thank you so much for your support and your wonderful reviews. We love them and we love you. Ice Cube1 and mumrulz keep pointing out things in the psychology department that we weren't even aware of. So thanks for making us understand our own story better, lol. Good reading everyone!**_

* * *

**Chapter 19 – Escape**

Today was the first day of spring. Theoretically, this was true. People had decided that this day marked the beginning of the season named spring. Historically, they had always looked forward to this day which symbolised the end of winter, the end of cold, the end of snow, thus hopefully, the end of starvation. And nowadays, everybody still seemed to welcome this new season cheerfully, because spring meant sunnier, longer days, with more pleasant temperatures.

Temperance Brennan wasn't the kind of person who actually paid attention to the date or the season. Her office was the same temperature and had the same amount of light no matter the period of the year. Dead people do not care about sun, so neither did she.

The day before, though, she had taken a look at the calendar. Because she had been counting the days. Because this undercover mission had seemed never-ending.

That's how she knew that today was the twenty-first of March; first day of spring, first day of freedom, first day far from Cummings. But in truth, it didn't feel like a happy day. The air was damp and chilling; it was still dark as night, but she could see big clouds filling the sky which would release heavy drops of rain sooner or later. She even wondered if any ray of sun would be able to reach the dark, dirty alley she was standing in.

She glanced around. The place was depressing. Depressing—the best word she had found to avoid thinking 'scary'. She tightened her arms around her body, wishing that she had been wise enough to take a warmer jacket. She had had to leave as quickly and quietly as possible, bringing with her the bag and suitcase. At last, she wouldn't have to wear the short, uncomfortable skirts she had been forced to wear during her time undercover anymore. She hated those clothes. She hated this role that she had been obliged to play, she hated this street language she had had to speak. She hated her new hair colour, and above all, she hated the new partner she had been assigned.

But hopefully, everything would be over soon. The jerk was sleeping right now. She still wasn't exactly sure what role he had in all this, or if he was as guilty as Booth seemed to think. All that she knew was she wanted to go as far from him as possible. And she didn't want to doubt that it would happen in a few minutes.

Involuntarily, her heartbeat quickened at the image of her partner. Her friend. Her protector. Her opponent, her ally. And as of lately, the person she lived with, shared a house with, cooked and cleaned for. It really wasn't as weird as it sounded. It was quite easy, actually. She just… did it.

It did make her wonder about how she would define their relationship, exactly. They'd been more than partners for a long time. They'd become best friends and now, they were even more than that. Like family. But not like brother and sister. The way they interacted, touched or hugged each other, the way they looked at one another, that was not like she did with Russ. Maybe… it was between how it was with Russ and how it had been with Sully. They were probably as close as she was with Angela, but in another way… Gee, this was very confusing.

She glanced at her watch. Almost five am. Admittedly, she was a little early. There was no reason to be nervous, really. The car would arrive soon. She couldn't help smiling, anticipating the moment when she'd see him again. No way would she cry, then. No way would she collapse into his arms. She wasn't that kind of woman, and she didn't want to be.

Merely thinking of him warmed her up. All of a sudden, the alley seemed less depressing, and all that she had been through in the past weeks seemed like just a joke. If she distanced herself from the situation, the undercover mission wasn't such a big deal. Cummings, the clothes, the people she had had to deal with—surely, it would be something she'd laugh about, later. From an anthropological point of view it had even been very interesting. A valuable experience. Yes, perhaps she would be able to appreciate the experience later. Only, she would not be ready to do it again.

She was experiencing the strangest mix of feelings. Nervousness, excitement, relief, dread. Obviously the better of these four had to do with being reunited with her partner. She'd really missed him. Of course, she was also worried about his state. With a slight smile she decided to go back to his house to continue taking care of him until he would be recovered fully. He was a very lucky man, because she even planned on picking up her routine of massaging his legs and feet.

Her stomach fluttered as she replayed some good memories of their time together, like a family. In the beginning, she'd felt somewhat awkward, but he made sure she was comfortably settled quickly. Came to think about it, he had been very, very attentive. Probably because he'd felt sorry for her, but she could understand that, so it didn't bother her. He'd been especially kind to her the first few days, when her ribs were still healing. Rib injuries were probably the most painful of all. After all, one found oneself in pain at every breath. She hadn't been able to lie down without the medication she'd got at the hospital. It had felt as if her ribs were constantly stinging her, making it hard to breathe and use her abdominal muscles. Lying down had made the pain unbearable. One time, the pain had got the better of her and tears of exhaustion from fighting the agony streamed over her cheeks. She'd been trying to get a little shut-eye that afternoon. Instead of recharging her battery though, she'd been tossing and turning, only to find the pain increasing, so she gave up and joined her partner in the living room. Of course, Booth wouldn't be Booth if he hadn't noticed, eventually.

"_Bones, go sit down. I'll get you some aspirin."_

_She wiped her eyes and cheeks with her hand and sniffed before she complied with his demand._

"_Never mind, they're not working."_

_He brought his hand to her face and smoothed away a forgotten tear with his thumb._

"_I've got something stronger for you. Okay?"_

_She nodded her head and palpated her ribs to locate the pain, only to find it was everywhere. Her breath shuddered and she winced, sending knives into her side._

_Booth returned with a glass of water and two white pills in his palm. He made sure she took them and she obeyed without putting up a fight. He asked if there was anything he could do for her. She was surprised by his question. No one had said that to her so sincerely and so sweetly since her mother, so many years ago._

_She shook her head in reply._

"_When did he do this to you?" he asked softly._

"_Every morning," she replied in a small voice._

"_I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you from that. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."_

"_It's not your fault. You've protected me many times. This wasn't in your power."_

"_I guess that's true. Are the pills kicking in yet?"_

_But his question seemed never to get through to her, for she looked thoughtful, and after a moment of silence looked in his eyes, the most sincere expression on her face._

"_Thank you, Seeley."_

_It was the first time she used his first name. She noticed that he noticed, but it had felt appropriate to her. It was more personal, more intimate perhaps. She really wanted him to understand. Like when he called her 'Temperance'. It always held a hidden meaning. The hidden meaning of her words was that they applied to everything he had ever done for her. She wouldn't admit to herself how affected she was by his random acts of kindness, by him being more of a constant than a variable, let alone tell him about it, but she was sure he could figure out what she'd meant._

_He proceeded to place his hand atop hers and gave it a squeeze. They both smiled a meaningful smile, of which no one knew the exact meaning except them, and they pretended to be entirely oblivious. _

A noise made her jump and she scanned the area, her body tense with stress. Soon, she relaxed and laughed at herself. There wasn't anybody in this alley. There wasn't anybody but her and maybe some animal. The rats were a greater number than the people here, anyway.

She rubbed her arms to stimulate her blood flow. The air was chilling. The car would be there soon. She was back in her own jeans, and soon, she'd be back in the life that was as familiar to her. As familiar as family.

* * *

He hadn't slept well tonight. He had hardly been sleeping at all, actually. Repeating to himself that everything was going to be all right didn't really help. It never did, anyway. This feeling was all over him, tormenting his mind, knotting his stomach. A persistent, disturbing feeling. What made it worse was the fact that he didn't know whether it was his usual Gut Feeling or some kind of irrational distress, because everything was going to go right this time. He was never nervous before an intervention; he never even felt a hint of dread before a mission. He had witnessed such horrors, had done such terrible things while serving the army that nothing managed to impress him anymore. Except when she was concerned.

He hadn't told her it was him who was coming to get her. He would have had to explain about his legs and it would have taken too long. It would have been a waste of such precious time. A short time. He was going to pick her up himself without notifying anyone, definitely not Cullen. He really had no concrete evidence and since Cummings had recently found a possibly very important piece of evidence, his boss would see no sense in aborting the mission. But Booth would do anything to protect her this time.

It should have been his first good night; he should have been sleeping peacefully for the first time in a long while. For he could now move both his legs. Now, he could stand. And walk. And drive. He had wanted so badly to share these leaps forward with her. But it wasn't important anymore. Or rather, it wasn't important _yet_. It would become important when he _would_ be able to share it with her. When he'd be sure that she's safe.

He sat straight on the bed and stretched his legs. He couldn't show up too early. A car lingering in an area like that would be quickly identified as suspicious, even at this hour of the night. So he got to his feet and paced up and down his living room, not to make sure that he was still able to walk, but because it was the only way for him to canalise his stress.

The ringing of his cell phone caused him to jump. _Bones!_ He rushed towards the device and checked the screen. Weird. That wasn't her cell phone or the one she used for the undercover mission. It wasn't Rebecca either. Who else would have business calling him at this ungodly hour?

He pressed the green button to accept the call.

"Booth."

"_Agent Booth? This is Persephone Williams."_

Persephone Williams, Delaney's former girlfriend? Her voice sounded agitated and breathless.

"What can I do for you, Miss Williams?"

"_I just wanted to tell ya, Agent Booth; that shit-head Delaney's back in town."_

Now she was furious. And he was numb.

Her words had hit him hard, echoing in his head. Delaney was back in town. Cummings was in town. Bones was in town. A lethal combination. Damn it, his gut had been right all along. But now he had to be extra careful. This was going over his head. But he couldn't do nothing. Yes, Bones was one of the most important persons in his life now, but he had a job, a duty, a responsibility. He was to protect not only the people he cared about, but also all the other citizens of Washington. He checked his watch. Between an hour before dawn and seven, she'd said. He still had a few hours.

_I'm sorry, Bones, but you'll have to hang in a little longer. I promise you I'll be as fast as I can._

"Miss Williams, could you come to the Jeffersonian Institute right now?"

"_Call me Persephone. We've met before. …Y'mean like right this second?"_

"Yes. I mean like right this second, Persephone," he pressed on.

"_I guess that's possible. Promise me one thing, though, Agent Booth."_

"What?"

"_Kick Matthew's ass for me? Twist his balls a little maybe? Just- make him suffer for wha'he did to Michael, y'know."_

"I can assure you he won't be liking me arresting him." He hoped she was going to comply with his demands. For God's sake she had better drive fast.

"_I have your word, then, Agent Booth? Oh and I've been meaning to let you know; I'm very sorry about what the little shit did to your partner. She didn't deserve that; she was nice to me. Y'know, didn't treat me like a junkie. All the hospital staff did."_

"Thank you. Persephone, I'll make sure to tell her. Have you by any chance met Greg Furgenson recently?"

"_Greg who? I never met anyone by that name."_

"He should have arrived a few weeks ago, with his girlfriend, Rosa Beck? Ring any bells?"

"_No it don't, Agent Booth. I'm calling to tell you Delaney's back in town. I spotted him the other night. He was wearing a hood and looking a little different, talking to his ol' enemies on the street. Figure _he _got himself some new fling though. But- why're we still talking? I'm supposed to jump into my car and meet you at that Jeffer's Institute, right?"_

"Yes. Please put a rush on that. Ask for Angela Montenegro and let her make a sketch of Matthew Delaney, okay?"

"_No problemo. Anything else?"_

"Yes, one more thing; have Angela fax me the picture as soon as it's done."

"_The second she's done. See ya later, Agent Booth."_

His expression had hardened when he hung up.

_Damn it, damn it, damn it!_

He grabbed his keys from the counter, pulled the door shut behind him and climbed in his car, forcing himself to picture his partner smiling in the passenger seat, instead of dreading the possibility that he might come back without her.

This time, more than ever, failure was not an option.

* * *

Persephone Williams was outraged and she hadn't even taken anything tonight. Her hands clutched the steering wheel as she broke every speed limit and ignored all the red lights on her way. Seeing his face had made her sick, disgusted her. She imagined Michael's face as his life was about to end by the hands of the man who had screwed his girlfriend and stole his position. Her poor, poor sweet Benson. She still loved his handsome face, his dark hair that she would gently tuck behind his ears so she could kiss his cheeks and forehead. One should always be gentle with these big guys, that's how they fell for you. And when they had, they were like butter in your hands.

He'd always treated her right. They would probably have got married if it hadn't been for Delaney showing up, introducing himself with an air of confidence and sexiness that she found irresistible. It had been stupid, starting an affair with him. One of the most stupid things she could ever have done. Surely, it had been a purely physical attraction, because she knew what a jerk Delaney was. In fact she'd known for a long time. But her mind hadn't been exactly the thing responding to him. Sly bastard.

Persephone turned into the parking garage of the Jeffersonian Institute. She had never been here before; Agent Booth and his partner, the pretty forensic anthropologist, had questioned her at the hospital. They may have saved her life, for shit's sake. If there was ever a time for Matthew Delaney to prove that he was a man, it had been then. But he didn't. He was a dirty little cockroach that she was just dying to send back to hell, where he came from. Now, she finally had the chance.

When she entered through the large doors, she seemed to catch everyone's eye. She shrugged inwardly. She knew she was hot. And in this skirt with these heels and this particular lipstick, she might call herself irresistible. At least that's what Michael used to tell her. A lump shot right into her throat and she immediately started to swallow it away.

The night guards, or early morning guards, eyed her with both appreciation and confusion.

"Hey guys," she charmed them and leaned over the desk. "I'm here t'see uhm, Angela Montenegro? She do sketches and sh- _stuff_, apparently."

The one that was able to tear his eyes away from her cleavage checked something in the computer and nodded in confirmation.

"Go right through that door and she'll meet you there," he offered.

"Thanks," she winked and walked in said direction. She hadn't meant to charm those boys. She was here for a serious matter. But who was she to deny them some warm feelings, perhaps a little break from the stream of lab-coated people? Exactly. Her flirting was for the greater good. At least this time it was. Delaney was a mistake.

She walked through the automatically opened doors and glanced around a bit. Yeah, yeah, yeah, the majestic hole of society's geniuses.

Persephone couldn't get the memories out of her head. Maybe that was a good thing. She'd have to remember Delaney's slick face, after all. In all horrid detail at that. She knew that she may be partly responsible for her lover's downfall and Delaney's rise. Poor Benson had told her it pained him not to see her as often anymore. He was unaware she'd been giving her positive energy to his competitor. One way or another, Delaney'd managed to climb up to Benson's position in record time. The guy just seemed to _know _so much. Anyway, Michael had been in his way both professionally and on a personal level.

The clicking of a pair of heels made Persephone look up. Why, why, why, one of these freaks actually had a sense of fashion and femininity, it seemed. The attractive woman wearing the heels smiled at her and stuck out her hand.

"Hi, you must be Persephone. I'm Angela; I'll be making the sketch. Let's go to my office."

Persephone smiled back and followed. This woman was very nice. It wasn't going to be as hard as she'd expected.

"I don't know if Booth told you any more than he told me, but I'm rather clueless on what exactly this is all about. I mean, I know you're going to describe Matthew Delaney to me and we have to hurry, but- Would you like some coffee, by the way?"

They'd reached Angela's office.

"No, I'm fine. You said we have to hurry, let's do that. Coffee can come later."

"Okay, make yourself comfortable and we'll do our best to get the Agent what he wants," Angela blinked and grabbed a sketchbook and some pencils. Persephone felt at ease in this woman's warm presence. Had they been living in the same neighbourhoods, they could have been friends.

Angela settled behind her desk and quickly put her hair in a ponytail before picking up her pencil and rolling it between her fingers a few times. For a moment she focused on something Persephone couldn't point out and then she spoke the right words in a confident voice.

"So, let's nail Delaney's ass."

* * *

_**A/N: Yes, let's nail Delaney's ass! The question is, in which chapter? Right, we like teasing you. But you do know that there's always a happily ever after. Well, not really, but our point isn't to make you cry eventually... Just to make you bite your nails for a while. As for next week, the agony's about to begin! Uhm, yeah, that's all we'll be telling you for now XD. Anyway, we'd love to hear your comments on this chapter. Enjoy your week!**_


	20. Intuition

_**A/N: So, you're all pretty sure Cummings is actually a bad guy, right? Good. The following chapters will be heaven for the angst-lovers amongst you, starting with this one. Also, there's some Angela POV in this chapter. Thanks again to all of our faithful reviewers; you really brighten our days! We hope you enjoy. Good reading!**_

_--_

**Chapter 20 – Intuition**

Intuition had always been a big part of Angela's life. It had brought her to places all over the world; her colourful and intense experiences had formed her character and stimulated her talents. There was only one disadvantage she could think of; it was hard to find like-minded people who had seen the world from so many angles as she had. It made the task of finding 'the one' seem so much more difficult if you knew how many different places he could be. However, she'd managed to find him. Right here, in the country where her life had begun. It was like visiting a neighbour but walking over the Earth the other way to get there.

Intuition was also something she used while she worked. She would pick up on a vibe from a skull or a person who was describing someone, and let their voice move her hand over the paper. She opened her mind to them to receive the image they were focusing on and draw every detail she could grasp. This time was no different.

Yet it was.

She was almost afraid to look at her drawing as she was finishing it. When the final touches had been made, she sighed deeply and briefly closed her eyes to suppress the feeling of panic and defeat rising in her stomach, spreading through her entire body. Then, instead of taking a general view of the sketch, she turned the sheet to show Persephone Williams the face. Even though she'd known the answer, all hope sank to her feet and made itself scarce when Persephone started nodding her head enthusiastically.

"Right on! That's him! That's Matthew Delaney. Now Agent Booth's going to nail his ass, ain't he?"

Angela nodded her head sadly.

"Yes, Persephone. I hope so. Thank you so much for your help," she forced a smile and stood up from her desk. "I have to fax this to Booth now. I'll call someone to walk you out."

Persephone rose from the couch and flung her handbag over her shoulder, holding up a hand.

"No need, Miss Montenegro. I can find my way out. Good luck with everything."

When Persephone'd left, Angela rushed towards her computer and scanned in her drawing. Then she called Booth's cell to inform him she was done. She decided against telling him that he wasn't going to like the sketch. Not one bit.

And that was all she could do for now. It made her sick.With trembling hands, she sank onto the couch and rested her face in her palms. The memories came back to her in flashes and a rollercoaster ride of emotions.

It had taken them half a day to even find out that Brennan was missing. Then it had taken them about two minutes to panic and three more to drag all the files, laptops and notepads they needed to the conference room. From the beginning, Booth had started yelling that it had to do with their latest case, but Angela's colleagues preferred to go over all the other cases Brennan ever worked as well. They specified in which cases there had been threats towards their boss. Of course, none of them had stopped when it was time to go home. That's when they received the first message. Booth was the one who got it.

_I have Dr Brennan. My specific demands will follow. Start gathering your evidence on the Benson case stat._

It had come from Brennan's cell and in the blink of an eye Booth had left the Jeffersonian and sped towards the Hoover building to trace the device. However, the abductor had probably smashed and left it somewhere, because there was no traceable signal.

The next day the first picture had arrived. Indeed with specified demands. Angela knew the letters by heart.

_I want you to destroy all files and evidence of the Benson case before midnight. This includes everything ranging from notes to the body. I have means to ascertain your progress. Do as I say, and Doctor Brennan will be sent back to you in a fairly good state. Don't do as I say, or take too long, and I will inflict something uncomfortable on the good doctor. Every day. I will keep you posted on her state and prove to you that she's still alive. However, when I finally lose my patience, I will not hesitate to put an end to the life of Doctor Temperance Brennan._

The eerie sound of those formal words forming such a horrifying message would haunt the team for two more weeks. The pictures would show the more and more rapid deterioration of their friend's health. That first and second pictures she'd been able to look at, feeling the adrenaline rushing through her system as she was still hopeful to find some clues. But there was nothing discernable except her friend's limp body lying on the floor like she'd just been dropped there, that day's newspaper placed neatly against her side. Like she was trash. Angela hadn't even been able to get a good view of her face, for her messy hair was draped over it. The scene was obviously staged. Her disappointment hadn't plagued her for long though, because the feeling was replaced by sheer determination. She would do _anything _to help her friend to safety.

But the hours passed and the days became longer, darker, and finally turned into weeks. Every single day Booth had pleaded his boss to consider destroying the evidence on the Benson case, but Cullen insisted that Dr Brennan wouldn't want them to do that. And he was probably right.

At work the atmosphere had turned into one that would make a graveyard seem cheery. It wasn't much better at home. Jack and she really didn't have much to say to each other anymore, for all they could think about was their friend and co-worker. How could they sleep when they knew she was being tortured? How could they watch TV and enjoy themselves when they knew she was scared, probably fighting for her life day after day?

It got to the point where Angela would have nightmares about finding her best friend's body. Somehow she just felt her. She felt she was still alive, but she knew that her spirit was seeping out of her. Every night she would send a mental message to wherever her friend was to tell her to hold on, that they would find her eventually. That everything would be fine again one day. Because even though two weeks may seem like not such a long time, it felt like over a year, it felt never-ending.

Hodgins had been sulking around the house and lab, and Booth had been having anger eruptions like a volcano whereas Zack had turned inward completely, never uttering a word unless requested. He had been overwhelmed by everyone's frustration and bad demeanours. He could achieve under pressure, but it frustrated him that there wasn't much to investigate.

Then, after two weeks of what was actually just waiting around, Hodgins had bellowed through the lab that he'd found something. Within three seconds, everyone had gathered around his computer and he was stammering from the excitement. He'd found particulates in the last envelope and identified them quickly. Luck appeared to be on their side for once when she herself had been able to pinpoint a couple of old buildings in which the particulates were generally found. Out of nine, Booth was able to pick the one where she had to be. His explanation, "It is the one I would pick. This guy isn't stupid."

He had left without another word, his suit jacket billowing after him as he rushed towards his SUV. The team had waited anxiously for news. A few hours later they received a call from Cullen himself informing them that Doctor Brennan was safe and they were currently investigating the warehouse where she'd been held.

As soon as the phone was back in its cradle, Angela had flung her coat over her arm and left for the hospital. Everyone agreed that she was the one who should go see Brennan first. That way Brennan could get some rest and Angela could inform the others on her condition. She had never been happier to see her best friend, the woman who she almostconsidered a sister, safely in bed between the clean white hospital walls. She hadn't been able to visit as much as she'd have liked to. They'd talked over the phone; she knew about the progress her friend was making, but it was obvious that Brennan wasn't ready to have an open-hearted conversation about the past weeks' events. Apparently neither was Booth, for he had gone on a vacation with Parker to recover from the stress and his injuries.

Yes, Angela had given her friend all the space she needed. She knew that if they wanted things to go back to normal, they had to act normal, do normal things. Issues would be addressed in time. They had to let Brennan settle in her familiar routine before she would attempt to make her face what she'd gone through and deal with it. The lunch they'd had with the whole team, the 'Squint Squad' as Booth liked to refer to it, had successfully chased away the subtle awkwardness in the lab. She had to give it to her friend; she'd been especially kind and patient since her return, as if to prove she knew what they had done for her and to let them know how much she appreciated it. How she was touched by their loyalty and friendship. Everyone was just glad to have her back.

Angela sighed and took a few steps towards the window of her office. She laid her hands on the windowsill and felt the strange mixture of tiredness and panic racing through her system. After all, she had been called awake at five in the morning and was forced to focus on a task that might save her friend's life. She was going to have to trust Booth on this one. No matter how many times she would have to miss her best friend for a while, she just wanted to be glad to have her back. Brennan was her rock when she needed strength and honesty; she was quiet when she needed someone to listen. She loved her guts. Together with Jack, Brennan was the one who kept her stabilised as she lived life on the edge. Angela Montenegro loved her to bits and pieces and she knew Temperance Brennan loved her, too.

Angela had barely been able to endure all this once. She couldn't take it again.

--

Where was he? It was getting late. Soon, she would have to go back to the musty apartment, to the partner who had betrayed her. She shivered once more and wrapped her arms around herself more tightly, blowing a string of hair out of her face as it kept escaping from behind her ear. People were going to come out onto the streets soon. The sun was rising behind the heavy clouds. Maybe it was time she put her lenses back in.

_Come on, Booth. Come on. Please. Don't make me go back there._

The mere thought gave her chills. She hated to feel that way, so vulnerable, so dependent, so scared.

_Come on, Booth._

Of course, she was aware that wishing wouldn't help her, that her sending him messages through her thoughts was impossible; a laughable action. Well, to hell with the rational way of handling this; she wanted out. She wanted to get away. Few times in her life had she felt this irrepressible urge to flee, to simply create distance. It had happened a couple of times when she was in the foster system. Frankly, her running away had never had the result she had in mind. Actually, it had only made matters worse for her. So she would stay put this time, and hope for the best.

_Come on..._

She was perfectly aware that he couldn't hear her pleas, either; that talking to an absent person didn't help. But it felt reassuring, somehow.

Then she heard it again.

Apparently she hadn't been that stupid, after all. It hadn't been a street cat or a sewer rat, but a dirty agent. Fears are not always irrational. Unfortunately, too much confidence can get you in trouble, too.

In less than a couple of seconds, it was over. The palm covering her mouth kept her from screaming and obliged her to inhale whatever soaked the cotton pressed against her nose. She tried to struggle, but she barely had time to panic before her legs gave way under her and what she understood from the smell to be chloroform clouded her mind. She barely had time to be terrified at the thought of what would be done to her when she'd wake up. She barely had time to wish that she never would. She realised that this time, her partner would arrive too late. With all her might she hoped he wouldn't blame himself.

She only had time left to think that in a game, there's always a winner and a loser, and that today was not her lucky day.

--

She wasn't where he had told her to wait. She wasn't there. He'd driven the route from the apartment buildings to the stores three times now, and he hadn't caught the slightest glimpse of her. Damnit, she'd gone back. He was late, forcing her to return to that hellhole she'd been living in for too long. Way too long.

On one hand it surprised him that she'd been able to stand it all this time, on the other hand he absolutely wasn't. She hadn't been ready to be on her own yet, but then again, she'd been forced to be ready when she wasn't a lot of times, and she'd always come out all right, stabilised herself afterwards.

Well, maybe not this time. And that's why he suddenly realised the major flaw in his plan. He had wanted so badly for everything to go right, expected it to, that he hadn't thought about what they'd do if the plan didn't work the first time. Sure, they would try again the next day, but how was he to know whether she'd gone back or something else had happened? Something bad…

No, no, no! He couldn't start thinking that way. He had to keep his cool. But still; how could he have been so stupid, so sure of himself that he hadn't shared his plans with anyone, anyone who might have been able to help?

So what was he going to do now? There was one way to make sure she was safe, and that was fairly impossible. He couldn't spy on the building long enough; he couldn't knock at the door and ask for her. If she had indeed gone back, he would be putting her in jeopardy.

But if she hadn't…

A million thoughts crossing his mind, Booth stopped the car in the middle of the dark street and stepped outside. Walking through the cold rain, his hand instinctively went to his side, where his gun was. Half an hour ago, when he had placed it in the holster where it belonged, he hadn't really believed that he would have to use it. He had brought it out of habit, as a security. Nothing more. But now the pain in his stomach had but grown worse. His dread had actually turned into physical pain.

Was this his gut or his heart? With his feelings no longer denied, tons of other scenarios started to cram up in his head. In the last days she was with him, he had allowed his gaze to rest on the curves of her body sometimes. By now, he could pick her out of a crowd of people whose contours were all he could see. Out of a hundred pieces written, he could recognise her style, her words. Out of a thousand voices humming, he could lead you to the distinctly melodious voice of her. She was that familiar to him.

Now, he couldn't stand the idea of foreign hands touching her skin, following her curves. He knew he had acted protective over her in the past, especially when she was seeing someone, but now he was feeling possessive as well. She had been his, in a sense, for such a long time he'd grown used to it. He couldn't cope with the mere idea of someone touching her against her will. It made him sick. She just seemed too delicate; enough violence had been inflicted upon her. She shouldn't be forced to face more of these horrors that would eventually overshadow her innocence that was so rare in this world.

He had come to look up to her, not only as a scientist but also as a woman. She was simple, yetveryclassy; there was something about her that was just not of these times. Purity might be one way to put it. Unlike he had expected, it appealed to him. The slight mystery, yet the certainty that he could rely on her. Maybe it was due to the combination of her uncanny intelligence and her distorted upbringing. She had to have practically raised herself. And she did so well. He might have been surrounded by war for a long time of his life; her war had been mostly inside. He never thought he'd be the one to love her like this, that she was not his type and he wasn't hers, but somehow he had just changed to fit her. Perhaps they were supposed to be together.

Booth stopped and looked around, scanning the area. There was no one outside yet. He looked up and watched the grey clouds pour their misery over the city, over the brick walls, over the car where the raindrops drummed a flat-noted rhythm. The tiny drops were soaking him. He felt goose bumps appear but not the cold that had to have caused them. The sun was nowhere to be seen or felt and he wreaked his brain over how he had come to fall in love with the one woman he had once sworn he wouldn't.

Then he finally understood: they were like each other. They both had gone through wars. He loved Parker the way she loved her job. He understood people the way she understood science. He saw humour in the things she sometimes said and she did the same regarding his 'pop-culture references'. They were as passionate about their goals, as devoted to their duties. Everyone, including himself, had always thought that they were opposites. God, had he been wrong. They weren't as different as could be, they were the same.

He hid the gun under his jacket, though making sure that he was able to reach it in less than a couple of seconds. He felt strange. He was alert, yet completely preoccupied. He thought of her, lying on his couch, her eyes closed, her guard completely down. She had looked so relaxed, youthful. He tended to forget that she was really pretty young. He thought of how her hands felt on his skin as she massaged his legs. Once he had regained feeling in his left leg and was able to feel the warmth of her fingers and palms, her massage had not only managed to warm up his muscles, but it had relaxed him completely. Completely. The demons in his mind, she was able to lull them to sleep. Completely.

He walked up and down the road, then noticed an alley. The minute he stepped into it, he knew she'd been here. As if her smell still lingered there. A wave of excitement washed through him, originating in his gut. There was something useful here, he could feel it. His intuition had proven to be reliable and was a big part of what he did and how he did it. Oh yes, he would find something here. He narrowed his eyes and scanned the brick walls, then the gritty ground. The dark corners…

There it was, sitting nearly out of sight. A bag. And it was as though it was screaming her name. Now he noticed the suitcase, too. Quickly, he surged towards the bag and yanked open the zipper. A piece of paper was revealed and he protected it from the rain with his body. He unfolded it and sighed shakily as he took in the image of himself, his son and his partner. It was Parker's drawing. She had left him a clue. A certainty. A fact. An awful truth.

An awful truth, for now he knew that Delaney had her. The sketch Angela had sent him couldn't have been more obvious, neither could her note at the bottom and neither could the picture from the FBI. Cummings and Delaney… they were one and the same. It wasn't an intuitive feeling anymore. It was an awful truth.

But the truth nonetheless.

--

_**A/N: So, what do you think? We had you doubting it the whole time, but yes, we finally admit it: Cummings is Delaney. Since Catherine turned eighteen yesterday, she would like to give you a spoiler as a present to all of you ;). The next chapter will be completely about Brennan and Cummings (good for you angst junkies), and his side of the story will be revealed. Hopefully, you'll come to understand that every single paragraph in this story has been functional to the plot. For now, we wish you a very good week. Love!**_


	21. Square one

_**A/N: Yes, Cube, the following chapters should be intense! We'd like to thank you all again for your wonderful comments, they make us grin perpetually and encourage us to be even more critical of what we write, so you will have the best possible time reading. Every chapter goes from Catherine to Magali and back a few times (just so you know how hard we're working for you ;) ). We like to stand for quality. Well now, the next bit holds a lot of information; we hope you'll get the picture of what this has all been about. Good reading!**_

_--_

**Chapter 21 – Square one**

When she woke up, the first thing she did was move her arms and legs a little, just clench and relax her muscles; the first thing she thought was that she wasn't hurt. Yet. And the first thing she saw told her that she was back in the apartment. The same damned apartment she had tried to escape. He had been quicker, or she hadn't been fast enough; he had been smarter, or she hadn't been careful enough. Now, she was back at square one, with a handicap.

Her disease, the exhaustion due to too little hours of sleep, and the effects of the chemical product he had made her breathe in made her feel weak. She wondered if she would be able to get to her feet, if she wanted to. She repressed a sob. No, no way. She wouldn't let him have the satisfaction of seeing her break down. Whatever would happen next, she wouldn't cry, and she wouldn't scream. She wouldn't give him the joy of hearing her beg.

But would she even be able to?

A wave of discouragement suddenly washed through her. Usually, she was a bad loser, and never stopped until she was satisfied with herself. But there's always a moment when somehow, you're forced to stop, and this moment had come. She was tired of playing, and she was too tired to put up a fight. She considered staying still, ready to accept her defeat, but finally she rolled onto her side and was surprised to notice that she wasn't tied up yet. Obviously, he was waiting for her to wake up before he would begin. That was understandable. He wouldn't enjoy it that much if she wasn't conscious. She didn't have a lot of experience in torturing other people herself, but at some point, it had to become boring if nobody was howling with pain.

She raised her gaze, knowing that her eyes would meet his. She could feel him, although he hadn't talked yet. He was simply watching her with a smirk, his arms folded over his chest. The look of victory was stretched over his face. They stared at each other for a long moment, as a heavy silence settled between them. The winner, standing smugly, was savouring his vengeance, relishing in the delicious feeling of having this woman in his grip at last, while the loser, who tried to hide how terrified she was, was considering whether there was still hope, a way out. She realised that she had always known it; that she had been feeling it from the first time they had been introduced to each other. But she wasn't used to listen to her intuition. She never did. Worse, she made fun of those who did.

She had blamed herself for being such a sissy, then; jumping at each sound, turning around constantly to be sure that nobody was following her, seeing in everyone the man who had made her life a nightmare for two weeks.

Still without a word, he pulled up the leg of his pants and revealed an ugly scar. A not so old wound she was responsible for. Now she blamed herself for having been so stupid. His uneven steps. He was slightly _limping_. How could she not have thought of this? Of course his steps wouldn't match Delaney's. The injury she inflicted upon him had caused his walking manner to change. He'd been alone with her all this time… again.

"Look what you've done, bitch."

The harsh kick he gave her in the belly knocked the breath out of her for several long seconds. She curled up, her eyes filled with tears of pain. She knew it was only the beginning. She assumed that he had a plan to make her pay. The pain lessened slowly, but she anticipated a new blow. She raised again her watery eyes to him; he wasn't moving, and didn't look like he intended to.

Was he expecting her to say something now? Because even if she wanted to, she couldn't; her tongue felt dry and paralysed in her mouth. Finally, he drew closer a chair and took a seat on it, propping his elbows on his knees, looking at her. Watching her. Suddenly a smirk broke through his serious expression. An expression as though she was a bad child and he was thinking about the punishment he would give her.

"I guess you want to know everything now," he said, and suddenly his voice sounded so familiar.

How could she not have known that the whispers she'd heard for two weeks belonged to this man's voice? She remembered, and matched, and felt all hope slip away. This time, his intentions were different. If he was actually going to share his secrets with her now, there was no doubt in her mind he intended to kill her. She wouldn't see the sun set that evening, nor would she be able to finish her novel, nor would she ever talk to Angela again, to Booth. There were so many things she'd like to explain to them. She used to assume they had forever. Stupid.

He got comfortable in his chair and started to speak.

"I guess it all started with a woman I worked with. I fell in love with her, but she made my life miserable. I made my intentions clear, but she kept me on a leash and finally, ruined my career at the Narcotics department. My boss gave me a choice, y'see; resign or accept the mission nobody wanted. I had to do it. This made me angry, as y'll understand. And vindictive. Good word, huh? I like it. Vinnn…dictivvvve."

He laughed, the sound piercing the silence that was as present as screaming children, and she shook her head no.

--

"What's that, Rosie? Don't ya wanna hear the rest of the story? Y'should be interested, ya know. Stories are your second profession. Or… maybe you're just aware that when the story ends, so does your life, and everything you ever worked for has been for nothing. That's not so good a feeling, right? Naw, don't feel good at all. But I got to make you feel this way, because ya have to _understand_."

She stopped shaking her head and merely looked at him, trying to keep her head up. He loved taunting her. She looked so wonderfully helpless and defeated. He hated when she was all 'Dr Brennan', always trying to make a fool out of him. But who was the fool, now, uh?

"Yeah, good girl." He leaned towards her. "Good girl," he whispered menacingly and smiled when he saw her wince. Humiliation was so sweet. He sat back in his chair again. "You probably know what mission I'm speaking of here. I had a slight problem. Fell in love with the lovely Miss Williams. Persephone, yes. That Benson-boy was in my way both professionally and personally."

The son of a bitch. The bastard. He had taken from him all that he desired. Didn't even get half of pain that he deserved.

"Unfortunately for _him_, Michael found out that Greg Furgenson, or Matthew Delaney, as everybody knows me here, never went away on business trips. Instead I had meetings with people who were definitely not from 'round here, y'understand? 'Cause they were the feds. Now Michael, he made a big mistake. He told the big bosses 'bout his discoveries, and then them bastards decided they were up for a little game. They contacted me and ratted Michael out. They said I got to live if I got rid of Benson in return, as a test of my loyalty. They proposed me keeping them safe from the feds by losing evidence and informing them of fed plans concerning their business. Y'll understand I could do nothing but accept."

He clenched his jaw and relaxed it. The human survival mechanism was amazing. The bosses could have made him do anything. He simply didn't want to die yet.

"When I came back from the mission, sending Delaney on another business trip, my boss Morassi transferred me to Homicides, saying it's the only option for me if I wanna keep my job. Well I did wanna keep my job, but not the one Morassi was talkin' about. I still had to spy. I still had to revenge myself, so I involved the Bureau by placing a colleague's weapon on the scene. Hey, you should remember that. It's the first time we met after our two-week honeymoon, right?"

--

She probably would have spat at him if she didn't know it would have gained her another kick in the ribs. She had to spare her strength.He laughed and she could do nothing but look at him as he spoke, urging the energy to return to her, pressing her liver to filter the chloroform out of her system.

Despite the fact that she'd never liked him or regarded him as truly her partner, she felt so betrayed. Because in actuality, her own partner had betrayed her. Instead of protecting her, he was harming her, and planning on killing her. Where was the logic in that?

How did she come to lie here, on the couch that smelled like him because he'd slept here every night? What had gone wrong this time? If she believed in a higher power, she would be seriously questioning their motives by now. What was she supposed to learn from these horrible experiences? What did she do wrong every time she got away fine that would have her in danger again? Was it the fact that she refused to be a victim? Why her, what was she to learn from this? What was she supposed to learn, god damnit!

Her brow furrowed as she tried to keep focus on the man in front of her, as she tried not to feel so damn hot that she couldn't think. As she tried to force down the lump that restricted her throat, causing her to almost pass out. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she felt herself slip away into a suppressing, thick darkness that terrified her as much as the situation she would face if she stayed awake. There was simply no way to get comfortable. His words were hardly getting through to her anymore, until she suddenly felt great pressure on her shoulders. He was shaking her, calling her name. Of course. What would be his fun if she wasn't conscious? Her heart hammered loudly inside her chest, trying to escape the confined space it was trapped in under her ribs. The pounding hurt, but it didn't matter; she understood.

The shaking had startled her, but now she felt herself sink back into the black hole again. Cummings noticed, because he wrenched his hands under her arms and shoved her into a sitting position like a rag doll, stabilising her until she could sit up straight herself. He left her sight for a moment to open a window, and the cold wind soothed her flushed skin. She was slowly regaining consciousness.

But what was the point in staying conscious, anyway? There was no hope for her. She might be able to scream, but the people around here weren't exactly helpful. Rule number one was to mind your own business. No, it would definitely be a waste of energy. She wasn't sure how yet, but it was likely that she die today. Tonight, when it would all be over, the sun would set, and cast an orange glow over the city that was her home. Angela would find the sky beautiful that way, and Booth would notice it too from his favourite spot on the couch. Also Zack, Hodgins and Cam would get to see the sun set. They would be oblivious to the fact that her cold and lifeless body lay here and she would never enjoy the sight of such a beautiful sky again. She never really bothered to admire the sky, anyway. She always thought she had better things to do. Now, she regretted it.

Despite that she knew Booth simply wouldn't be able to come rescue her this time— how could he if he wasn't even able to walk— she still felt the pang of hope, of trust towards him. Yes, it was absolutely irrational, but she couldn't help it. Her emotions were taking over her head when it came to him, it seemed. It confused her. Was it a subconscious reflex supposed to help her fight for her life? But she hardly had time to think about what this meant, for Cummings cleared his throat and continued his story.

--

"When Benson's body was found, the bosses weren't too pleased with me, 'cause the feds had been questioning their people, y'know. I had to freaking beg them to spare my life, which might not seem a lot to you, but it's all I have in this God-forsaken world. Anyways, I had to make it up to 'em. I had to make sure the evidence disappeared, ya know, or I would get one in the kneecap. They gave me thirteen days. On the fifth day I'm mad with fear and I decide to take the liberty of kidnapping the Forensic Anthropologist— that would be you, Dr Brennan— and blackmail the FBI into destroying the evidence."

He imagined how painful it was for her to remember; but it was so enjoyable for him to tell her this story she already knew. For all these days, he had been hoping that she was afraid of the dark, that the imaginary sound of his whispers kept her from sleeping, that her few dreams where horrible nightmares whose hero was he. Now, he had the proof that it had happened.

"_Unfortunately _though, I get 'somehow' shot in the leg and lose my bargain!"

At this point, he stood up straight from the chair and ran his hand over his face, then paced the room a couple of times. He was getting worked up again over this. He shouldn't be letting that happen. He considered causing her pain again, then realised that he was more mad at himself that he was at her. Shit, she was a woman. A scientist. A scientist, not even a cop. How could all her fucking doctorates help her mess up his plans?

"Anyways, I was able to take care of my leg _myself_. It would be stupid to go to a hospital and have the feds kicking in my door a few hours later, wouldn't it? Yeah yeah, I know what you think, and I agree: That Cummings guy isn't stupid at all."

She said nothing, and just kept staring at him with her watery eyes. He had liked it, at first, to see his power reflected in her clear orbs. Now, funnily, it had begun to become annoying.

"Ah, so now we get to the good part of the story. The one you're in," he winked at her. "Well, I can tell ya it wasn't that much fun to begin with. Naw, not for me. But then, then I got to see the benefits y'know. For the first time in quite some time, I'm in charge. I have power. Over you; strong, independent, confident… hot." He shrugged. "I just wanted to see if I could break ya. Think I did, don't ya?"

He paused, to see the effect it had had on her. She didn't dare talk, the bitch.

"Honestly, it feels good to be having this conversation with ya. We can exchange thoughts a bit this way. Maybe back then you thought that I was going to do you, but you shouldn't've been afraid of that. Didn't wanna dirty myself, you see. Still don't. So nothing there for you to worry about. Except the fact of course, that you're going to die. Yeah, I'd worry 'bout that if I were you." He snickered. "No, actually, I'd worry more 'bout what is going to happen _before_ you die."

She didn't really react to that, but he knew that she was terrified inwardly. Her heart had to be pounding painfully in her chest. His, too. Of excitement.

"Anyways, where was I? Right. Well, while I had you safely secured in the warehouse I made sure to show my handsome face at the FBI on a regular basis. Didn't wanna arouse suspicion. You'll understand. I guess y'know the story from here. I get myself a spectacular find of evidence every time someone starts gettin' to have enough of me. Also keep doin' my best, try to get to the evidence to tamper with it a little, but _you_ there cold-hearted scientist lady wouldn't let me. Yeah yeah, very clever of ya. But hey, not a problem I'm unable to handle. It's going to have to go another way, and that's fine with me, so I insist on the undercover mission. You've been fun, but trouble. And accidents tend to happen undercover more than in real life, where you're protected…"

--

Protected... She had never doubted she was safe, never. Even after being betrayed by the son of a bitch Jamie Kenton. Even after being caught by the Gravedigger. She used to think she could take care of her own protection; that when she couldn't, there were people around her who could help her.

"Now you're probably wondering, and you're right to, why no one here recognised me. Another genius idea of mine. I tell 'em in advance that we're coming, that I don' want my girlfriend to know who I am 'cause of the trouble I'm in and tadaa, they call me Greg Furgenson, not Matthew Delaney. Everything goes well, I'm enjoying myself, but then you feel the need to start whining about uselessness and quitting. I had to come up with some mighty awesome evidence again, so I chose the car."

At this point she sat slumped on the couch, listening to him, her brow furrowed. This guy was crazy. How could he have done all the things that he did? Why did nobody stop him? His boss should have fired him in the first place. Cullen should have requested his file. She should have listened to her… her intuition. She should have told Booth everything. His gut-feelingwould have told him something was off, and she would have listened. Because the truth was, she always sought evidence to confirm what her partner guessed. He was never far off.

"And then what d'ya think? I'm in the freakin' shower and your mighty-annoying cell phone rings. All the sudden you want to _go for a_ _walk_. Don't insult my intelligence by tellin' me you thought you had me tricked. Why the heck would a lab call to announce they're _not_ finished _yet_? Yeah, yeah, yeah. So when your phone is unguarded for the briefest of moments, _finally_, I take a peek and guess what I see? You've been callin' that FBI-guy of yours. I figured, if it was the fed-guy calling, and you went out, wanting privacy, what else would ya been talkin' about but me, huh?"

Would they make sure her grave was next to her mother's? Would her dad be allowed to attend her funeral? How would her friends cope?

_Jesus, Brennan, you're not even dead. Come on! You still have a chance. You can still fight. Don't surrender. Don't abandon your friends… your family. You can do this... you can at least try. You have nothing to lose now. You don't want to die without putting up a fight, do you?_

She swallowed hard and started pushing her emotions, her fear, far away from her head. She needed to get a good view of the situation at hand, needed to observe Cummings. Maybe he would subconsciously show or tell her something she could use in her defence. Booth. Think like Booth. What could she tell from Cummings' body language, the tone of his voice?

"By this time I can see that there's a good chance you're onto me and my game-playin', so I decide not to let your bossy, stuck-up anthropologist-behind out of my sight. And damn right I was, for when I lie awake on my couch, merely _pretending _to be asleep, I hear little mouse-feet. In the state-of-mind that I was, I figured the mice would be asleep before you, and ya must be planning on trouble. I follow you, clever guy that I am, right? And see ya waitin' for the devil knows what, and I realise your little plan."

Ah. He was getting overjoyed with himself, he presumed victory was his. Overly confident. That could be a weakness. He obviously didn't expect her to put up a fight anymore. Good. She would let him think that for another while.

"Yeah yeah, but unprepared I wasn't, oh no. Chloroform's a boy's best friend. Yeah. I know you fight. You're a fighter, I get that; looking the way you do, the guys must be waiting in every alley for a chance to snatch you away and have a little fun. But of course, I did take into account that you're a fighter, like I said, and drugged you. See, this doesn't mean I'm a coward, it simplymeans I'm smart. Damn right I am. You're here, right? I got you again. Got you twice now, won't let ya get away this time. It's time for you to accept your defeat, sweetheart."

The tone of his voice. A slightly higher pitch. He was getting emotional. Not sad-emotional, but his heart was currently stronger than his head. Also good.

Would she be able to catch him off-guard? Would she be able to survive? Booth's face came out of nowhere in her mind, smiling at her, nodding his head proudly. Encouraging her. Yeah. She could do this. She could at least try.

--

_**A/N: And? Is Cummings' side of the story clear now? We honestly don't mean to leave you with a cliffhanger, but we had to end the chapter here. To make it up to you, we promise that you'll be able to sleep soundly after reading the end of next week's chapter. Speaking of which, we do plan to have you biting your nails and on the edge of your seats evil laugh. How will Brennan escape this time? We leave it up to you to guess until next Sunday. Have a good week everyone!**_


	22. The cat and mouse game

_**A/N: We know what you've been thinking: Cummings deserves to die. But we left you with Brennan in a dangerous situation... Will Booth arrive in time to save his beloved partner?**_

_**Some of you said you'd be surprised if Booth didn't kill Cummings. Well, we hate to be predictable. Some of you said Cummings wasn't angry enough. We agree, but the last chapter wasn't meant for Cummings to get angry. In this chapter, however, he might get a little upset...**_

_**And that's all the hints you'll be getting for now. Good reading!**_

_--_

**Chapter 22 – The cat-and-mouse game**

His ankle was propped on his knee, his arms were folded across his chest. He had been quiet for a little while. His expression was serious; it even looked as if he was in thought. Was he waiting on something to happen?

Her eyes had grown clear again, the fog in her head had dissipated. She was feeling a little better, though her skin was still burning where he'd kicked her in the stomach earlier.

"You have no idea about the trouble you've caused me," he finally spoke.

"Am I supposed to feel bad?" she managed to say."What about what you did to Michael Benson?" Although glad to have found her voice, she did her best not to sound too confident, did her best to sound weak. Showing him that she still had strength would only gain her more pain.Maybe it was better not to speak to him, but Booth was right; she never knew how to shut up.

He snorted. "Benson was a stupid jarhead."

Rain tapped hard against the windows, forming a curtain between them and the rest of the world.

"He was a human being. You can't kill another human being. It's _inhumane_." She was completely fine with stretching.

"Right. I think it's time for you to shut your know-it-all mouth again."

She looked at him defiantly, and suddenly, his emotions flared.

Damn! She shouldn't have done that. He'd made it obvious he liked to be in control, craved it, and by shooting him that look she had shown that he hadn't won _yet_.

He jumped up from his chair and forcefully grabbed her hair, pushed her head down and punched her side hard. He was furious. The pain shot through her entire body. Tears sprang to her eyes. She gasped for breath. He pulled her hair, threw her on the floor, kicked at her again.

"Bitch! You stupid woman! You've fucked up everything! Well you're going to DIE today, bitch!"

She didn't actually pay attention to his words.She felt his fists and feet landing all over her body, sending her head into spinning, unable to locate the pain anymore. He was raging, taking all his anger out on her. If she was going to fight back now, she would lose, for sure. He was too furious, his adrenaline increasing his force, and she wouldn't be able to last long enough. Desperately, she tucked her legs and head in, trying to protect her organs, and finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he stopped.

Pain searing through every limp, every inch of skin, every pound of flesh. Her ribs, her legs, her back, her shoulder, her arms, her belly, her head… She'd taken one hell of a beating and the raw violence had her trembling on the floor. He tried to break her. Again. He had kicked her around as if she was an animal, as if she was worthless. It enraged her.

With difficulty, she pushed herself up from the floor once the fiercest pain had subsided and her breathing had calmed down a bit. Cummings was somewhere on the other side of the room, his back turned to her. He was closing the window. Was he still waiting on something to happen? If she were him, she'd want to get it over and done with. Just kill her. But no, he wanted to make her suffer first.

She sat on her knees, taking painful breaths. She tried to think, realised how weak she really was compared to him now. And couldn't help but blame herself for this. She blamed herself for thinking that all might not be lost; that there was still hope, that the FBI agent whom Booth had sent to pick her up would know there was something wrong. Yes... Hopefully, he'd be there from one minute to another. Foolish hope. She blamed herself for thinking it was worth trying to struggle, because she knew that it would be but more painful.

She did it anyway. She pushed on her arms to get to her feet, but Cummings quickly turned on the sound of her groan and stalked towards her. Another kick sent her back to the floor. He was triumphant again, he was jubilant to see her squirm at his feet. She knew he was. He didn't even have a weapon. No gun, no knife, not even a tool or a baseball bat. He wanted to show her that he was in control, and that he didn't need anything in his hand for that.

Without really thinking of what she was doing, she ignored the pain in her ribs and rose quicker than before. When she saw the blow coming, she managed to avoid it and took this opportunity to punch him in the face. Her muscles ached in protest. He groaned with both surprise and soreness.

She realised too late that this was a mistake. From the look that appeared in his eyes, she understood that he wouldn't give her any rest; that he wouldn't spare her anymore. The fight actually began right now.

So she ran, stumbling, not really caring in which direction she was going. And the sound of a safety latch only made her run faster.

--

She had escaped once, his bad. He had taken every necessary precaution to make sure that this wouldn't happen again. All the doors, all the windows, were locked, and he had hidden the keys. The apartments next to them were currently empty, making it pretty much impossible for anyone to hear her screams. Not that he expected the other tenants to come to her aid if they did hear her. No, this time, she was trapped.

She claimed to be so smart yet she hadn't even seen the gun on the table. It was way too easy. Almost boring. But he enjoyed watching her run more than he had thought. He had grabbed his gun before she was able to see it, and he was pointing it at her before she had reached the kitchen door. He fired just before she disappeared into the other room. She cried out of surprise when the gun went off, and he swore, thinking that he had missed her.

He huffed and strode in her direction. She had escaped once, she wouldn't escape twice.

--

Brennan brushed the tips of her fingers against her left arm, then looked at the dark blood her shirt was now stained with. God, it hurt like hell. It burnt terribly. The effects of the chloroform still made her feel dizzy and weak. She was aching all over because of the beating. Or was she shaking with fear and panic? Her movements were too slow, her pace wasn't steady enough. She was aware that she would have no chance of getting out of this without getting her brain to take back control over her body. So she forced aside all that she dreaded, all she remembered had happened before, all she feared could still happen. She forced aside the pain in her arm, she pretended that no bullet had been shot into her flesh. She stopped listening to her emotions to listen to her rational, scientific mind only. She could see only one solution to get out of here with a pulse. Only one person was to survive. And that was her or him. So she focused on one thought: It had better be her than him.

She glanced around frantically, and didn't have to think for long before she opened the drawer next to the door and grabbed the first knife she found. It barely came to her mind that this weapon was useless against a gun; she didn't have time for this kind of critical thought, and she didn't have time to hesitate. She would improvise when it came to that. She could hear him coming, and he would probably fire before she would completely turn around. But it was the knife or nothing. She squeezed the handle so hard that her knuckles turned white. It was now or never.

When she turned around, he was walking straight in her direction, pointing his gun at her. The look on his face showed how satisfied he was, relieved even, to see the blood on her left arm. Every little thing that made her weaker made him happier. And maybe too confident.

Everything happened in but a matter of seconds. As if in a reflex, she threw the knife at him, and he had to move aside to avoid it. He fired two times clumsily, and this time, luck was on her side, for the bullets didn't even graze her body. Her hand, however, reached the drawer she had left open and seized the biggest knife that was in there. She hid behind the door before he was able to shoot again, and she was on him before he could realise it. He groaned with pain when the blade dug into the flesh of his elbow. She thrust the knife as hard as she was able to, ignoring the pain that shot through her hand, until it met the bone with a recognisable sound.

She watched as his eyes widened, stared into nothingness for a moment, their faces merely inches apart. She smelled him as their scents mixed. Warmth, sweat, the sound of raspy breaths, the sight of teary eyes, blood, the sensation of intense pain and adrenaline raging through their systems. It had a weird kind of intimacy to it.

When she realised that he had dropped the gun, she pulled the knife out and, never letting go of the handle, she bent to pick up the weapon. But his knee in her abdomen stopped her before she was able to reach it, and he took this opportunity to blow her hard in the face without risking too much getting stabbed again.

Unlike him, she never let go of her weapon. The pain, the blood, nothing mattered anymore but the one goal she pursued.

**--**

He understood that she wouldn't give up until she'd be dead. Neither would he. It would be a fight to the end. There would be blood, sweat, and tears. There would be screams. Hopefully, hers.

Without letting his eyes off of her, he crouched and grabbed for the gun still lying on the floor. His gaze caught her face for a brief moment. Her nose was bleeding and her eyes were watery. He made a face at how it had to hurt, pretending that he didn't suffer himself from his elbow. And he winced when it was so difficult and painful to stretch his arm.

He didn't know how she had found the strength, but she managed to stop him from succeeding. Obviously, he had underestimated her. She was like a wounded animal enraged because of the pain. The second stab was less violent but threw him off balance and caused him to collapse. Preferring to focus on the fact that the additional pain made her weaker, he tried not to think that a blade was currently dug deep in his side. He turned his head to his left. His good arm could still reach for the gun. He could either seize it or kick her where he was able to. He chose the gun.

Remembering how many times she had humiliated him gave him the strength to stretch his arm, while the ineluctable fight for life they were caught in made her stab a third time. When it appeared obvious that he'd never reach the gun, he let his head roll to meet her gaze. Time seemed to stop.

The calm before the storm. Her face was contorted with pain, but her eyes were determined. For sure, she would finish the job. She stabbed, and stabbed, and stabbed again, almost forgetting what she was doing—that she might have become like one of the murderers she worked so hard at catching. And he did his best to look straight at her as she was in the process of taking a life. So that she wouldn't have completely won. So that he was sure his face would haunt her all her life. He knew it would, and it was what made his lips stretch in a small smile, despite the indescribable pain the knife was causing him.

The thought came to his mind, just before his heart stopped, that he hadn't completely lost, and she hadn't completely won.

--

She didn't really notice all the blood. The blood marking where they'd fought, where their bodies had made contact. She only watched his face. She had to be sure. He was still looking at her. Another stab. He still seemed alive. Another one. She hadn't counted how many times she had jammed the knife into him, into his body that had injured her, humiliated her, weakened her, sucked up her strength. The last one.

His eyelids were still open but his gaze was growing empty. Kneeling next to him on the floor, she stopped, watching for any movement of his face, looking at his chest. She waited, but nothing came. Still, she had to be sure.

"…Bitch, y'll burn 'n hell…" he murmured.

Damn it! He was still alive. Still insulting her, still threatening her. And she wasn't going to hang in much longer. She could feel her energy wearing off with the adrenaline. So she gathered her little remaining strength to grab the gun and aimed at his head. She realised that her arm and hand were shaking. Her first shot missed him. The trembling was now impossible to control. She tried again, but the bullet bounced off the tiled floor. Tears sliding over her ashen cheeks, she let out a sob. Why was this bastard making it so hard for her to end this? She had to be sure. The bullets... Maybe there were none left, maybe there was just one. So this one had to reach its target. She had to be sure. Her arm stretched in his direction and, with vigilance, as if he could wake up at any moment, she moved closer. Then his chest suddenly rose, and Cummings took in another ragged breath. His eyes were closed, but he forced them open to look at her. His gaze was as mocking as ever.

"You'll ne- never get a- away with-th this, _Doctor Brennan_… You- I'll m- make sure you'll remember m- me for the r- rest of- of your miserable l- life. You're- a murderer, Temperance. A m- murderer…"

He was on the verge of dying, yet he sustained his taunting. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, for his words were getting through to her little by little. She heard him, his raspy voice. She recognised the whispering of her captor, looked at the face of her temporary partner, a traitor, an impostor, a killer…

When he grabbed her wrist and tried to break it with his last strength, she pointed the gun to his forehead, and she fired. _This is for Booth, _she thought as her own shaky breathing was the only sound mixing with the raindrops on the windows. It was over in the blink of an eye. He was definitely dead now.

Suddenly, her muscles felt like jelly and, after having pried her wrist from the dead man's grip, she leaned on her good arm, and lay down next to him. Only then, she realised that her hands were sticky with blood, that her mouth tasted only blood. Hers, his, it didn't really matter. It made her nauseous, sick to her stomach. Her right hand still holding the gun, just in case, she closed her eyes. She didn't know what was to be expected now; if somebody would ever find her, and how long it would take if they did. She wished that she could open her eyes and see Booth bending over her, swearing that everything would be fine.

The pain in her left arm suddenly woke. She let out a shaky breath. All that should matter was that she had won, although she had no strength left to savour her victory.

She felt her body slowly but steadily succumb to the exhaustion. It felt wonderful; slipping away like that. Drifting into sleep, away from the pain…

But no, she couldn't. She had to take care of herself. She had to call someone, let them know what happened, where she was. Booth. Where had she left her cell phone? It was in her pocket when she had been waiting in the alley. Would he have done something with it? Had he taken it from her?

She let out a surprised sigh when she found the device still in her pocket. Apparently he hadn't thought she'd live long enough to use it. He had been so wrong. She attempted to sit up so she could lay the phone in her lap, for her fingers trembled too much for her to dial a number in this position. However, her head started spinning in protest and she became sick, so sick that she decided to lie back down. Maybe she had a concussion from his kick to her head. She would have to get it done this way. Finally, she managed to hit speed dial.

_Come on, Booth. Pick up. I need you._

--

He had given the alley a complete check and found nothing else to tell him what had happened to his partner. He'd cursed the rain for soaking her things and quickly loaded her bag and suitcase in the lease car. He had scanned the street one more time, but knew he wouldn't find anything new. So stupid. So unprepared. He didn't even have an address. He had gone crazy; actually going through with this spur-of-the-moment plan.

He sat in the car and ran his fingers through his hair, then placed his hands against the wheel and stretched his arms, pushing himself back in the seat. It felt nice. Okay, so it was obvious she was taken. It was pretty clear by whom. Now if he were Delaney, where would he take her? Where would he go? Well, that depended on what he wanted to do to her.

Booth sighed and pulled himself together. He needed to think now.

_All right. Detachment, buddy. Detachment now._

Option one: Torture her or hold her hostage. Location: Not here. Option number two: Use her as bait. Location: Somewhere she'd be easily noticed by the right people. Not here either. Third option: Kill her. Location: Definitely here. It was quick and rather safe, because he didn't have to move her around a lot. Less chances of her escaping, less chances of him getting interrupted.

He knew the third option was his best shot. It was more logical. Bones would grant him points for this argument. All right. This part of town was going to wake up soon. He would walk into some shops and ask about her, try to figure out where she lived. That was also crazy; he hardly knew anything of her undercover mission. He didn't think she even did until the night she'd said goodbye to him and Parker. He hoped she didn't feel abandoned by him. He had told her someone would be there to get her. She'd risked her life sneaking out, coming here, and he'd left her by herself. Alone in a dark alley. Probably in the rain. Cold, anxious. Oh, this was definitely a good fix for his guilt feelings. Let's hope it wouldn't overdose on this. Sarcasm. Only thing to keep you sane when dark thoughts are all that's coming to you.

Booth turned the key in the ignition and the engine of the car came to life. It roared significantly louder than his beloved company car. Annoying. But not important right now.

He started to steer the vehicle back onto the road when the ringing of his cell phone nearly caused him to have a heart attack. With frantic hands, he grabbed the device and answered.

"Booth," he said breathlessly, waiting for a response, hoping it would be good news. But whoever was calling him remained silent. All he could hear was faint breathing and an occasional moan. His heart skipped a beat. He didn't need more to figure out who it had to be.

"Bones? Bones! Is that you? Are you okay?"

_Please talk to me. Please be okay._

He sat frozen in his seat, both hands clutching the phone. The breathing was hers, wasn't it? The whimpers… he seemed to recognise the sound of her voice through them. Yes. Yes, it was her!

"_Booth… I'm... in the apartment. I— I need help."_

Oh thank God. She was alive. At least she was able to talk.

"Where's Cummings, Bones?"

He had to get a general idea of the situation she was in. That way he could prepare a strategy for when he got there.

"_He's— I— I had to__**—**__ I did something terrible," _she choked out, and he heard a broken sob escape her. It was obvious the sob had caused her pain, for she hissed.

"Listen, Bones, try to calm yourself, okay? Temperance,listen. Try to remain calm for me."

He knew how much he was asking from her. Even for him, staying in control was tough.

"Are you all right?" he interrogated her. "Are you hurt?"

Of course she was hurt, dummy. She was inevitably hurt, judging from sound of her voice.

"_I did something terrible, Booth."_

She sounded desperate, stunned, and guilty.

"Bones just tell me one thing, okay? Where is Cummings?"

He hated to push her at this moment. She sounded weak and exhausted. But he had to know. Although in truth, he already knew. But he had to be sure.

Instead of answering him, she started to weep and sniff. He recognised the distorted regularity of her breathing sounds from when her ribs had been healing; she had to be in great pain.

"All right, Bones, all right. Shh, it's okay. Just tell me where you are and I'll come get you."

"_You can't!_" she countered him in a shaky voice. "_You're in a wheelchair, Booth. You can't come this time, but it's okay. Just… please send someone who can._"

"Where are you, Bones?"

After she told him, Booth set the car into motion and speeded towards the apartment building she'd described. He told her not to hang up; she asked if it was okay if she didn't speak for a moment. He told her to get as safe and comfortable as possible. It bothered him not to know where Cummings was, but he simply didn't have the heart to be hard on her now.

As he was speeding through the dirty streets of the Washington underworld lined by depressing buildings, he felt a tinge of happiness in his chest. She would be safe soon. With him. Together. Where they belonged.

--

_**A/N: We will be honest with you: There is a chance that the updating will become a little less regular, because Catherine has her final exams coming up and Magali is in the process of moving. So the fact that we're both short on time is a problem. However, we promise you that we won't keep you waiting too long. And to try and make it up to you a little, we promise you that Booth and Brennan will be re-united in the next chapter, and there will be… fluff. Yes, real fluff this time, for which you won't be needing a magnifying glass! So please bear with us and forgive us the wait, and we hope to hear from you soon! (Which is an original way to say: Please let us know what you thought of this chapter!)**_


	23. For both their sakes

_**A/N: Happy Sunday, wonderful readers and reviewers! Catherine left on holidays yesterday, lucky her, so it's me, Magali, who's in charge of updating today. The last time, we left you with Brennan hurt, and Booth on his way to get her. But uh—What if Cummings isn't really dead? That would be a hell of a twist, right? Hehe. Well, from what I know, this isn't a supernatural story, so in this chapter you'll just see some unavoidable angst and what you're probably expecting: some fluff.**_

_**Okay, I really think I suck at writing those author notes so you'd better start reading now!**_

**--**

**Chapter 23 – For both their sakes**

He held his gun at the ready and stuck the key in the lock. His badge had never been as convincing as a few minutes before, when he demanded the key to apartment 66F. Slowly, he turned the key and heard the lock click. Then, he pushed the door slightly ajar with his shoulder, only enough to take a peek into the living room. Bright sunlight streamed in through the windows, but the air of violence hung dense as fog in the tense quiet that filled the apartment.

Booth pricked up his ears but heard nothing. It had been a while since she stopped talking to him on the phone. He'd kept on listening, of course, his hand clasping the device a little too tightly. No distinguishable sounds. That could be good. It could also be very, very bad. He had kept talking to her regularly, for her to know that she wasn't alone; to reassure himself, too. She wasn't answering anymore. This time, he knew she'd be harmed, but he wasn't sure she wasn't dead. Dead…

He pushed the horrific thoughts that threatened to suck all hope out of him to the back of his head. For both their sakes, he had to. He hung up the phone, which was of no use anymore now, and took a few tentative steps into the living room, his gun pointed in front of him. No blood. No persons. No sounds.

He checked the bathroom. Save for a couple of cockroaches it was empty. The bedroom. Was this where she'd been sleeping? Even with sunlight outside, it was dark. Musty. The whole apartment was musty and repelling. He knew she wouldn't be staying at a five-star hotel, but it seemed just… wrong for her to have to live here, in this junkie hell-hole.

Returning to the living room, there was one more door. It was open, almost inviting him to pass through. The kitchen. His gun still at the ready, Booth entered and his heart stopped for a moment when he saw the two figures lying on the floor, next to each other. Both covered in blood. At least he knew where Cummings was, now. His glassy eyes stared up at the ceiling, his face contorted in some sort of smirk.

And next to him… _oh God, please, please let her be—_

A small moan came from her lips and he was on his knees beside her limp body in the blink of an eye. Her cell phone lay in her hand, a few inches away from a gun. He immediately understood what had to have happened here. She'd fought for her life, and by the looks of it; she won. But this blood all over her, was it hers or his? It didn't take him much time to notice that she was still bleeding slightly from her right arm. Damn it, she'd been shot!

"Bones! Oh God, Bones."

He scanned her body, looking for other wounds. She had to have other injuries, or she wouldn't be half-unconscious. What had the bastard done to her before she managed to do him in? For a moment, admiration replaced dread in his mind and in his gut. He placed his fingers on her neck and felt for a pulse. It was faint, not as strong as he'd like it to be, but very much present. Next, he leaned over her and held his ear by her slightly parted lips. Her breathing was shallow and barely audible, but at least she was getting oxygen.

"Bones… Bones can you hear me?" he whispered and gently smoothed some hair out of her face. Her lip was cut, but the bleeding had stopped. There was some dried blood under her nose. An angry bruise under her eye. Her beautiful, porcelain skin, marked with rage and violence. Again. He stared at her battered face in shock. That son of a bitch… if he wasn't dead already he'd have killed him single-handedly. It felt almost frustrating to have nothing to take his rage out on.

"Hey Bones, it's all right. It's over. I'm here, and I'm not leaving you, okay?" he tried again. Still no reaction from his partner. Her face bore a deathly pale complexion, and this worried him. As quickly as he was able to, he grabbed his cell phone and requested two ambulances.

It was as though a fog machine had been turned on, and the white air around her was so dense that she couldn't see an inch into her surroundings. Despite this, she wasn't afraid at all, for she knew that when the fog dissipated, the world would still be there. But for now, she wasn't thinking about any of this; she was merely enjoying her blind slumber.

Booth glanced over at Cummings' body and decided on how to proceed. Shouldn't he— naw, he looked dead enough to him. The blood had already stopped oozing from his wounds and the hole in his head made him appear even less lively.

_Bones did a pretty good job on him. In fact, looks like I couldn't have done it better myself. Couldn't be more proud of my girl…_

"Bones, come on. Wake up for me now, come on."

He hoped his voice would be an incentive for her to open her eyes. It wasn't his voice though, that first penetrated the density around her. It was his scent, the soothing smell of his breath and his skin.

Unable to pinpoint where it had come from, her senses had picked up on something, though she didn't even know which of her senses was receiving the stimuli. It was pleasant nonetheless, like someone was standing beside her in the fog, and it was reassuring not to be alone. Then, she felt a pressure on her arm, and the fog suddenly wasn't so pleasant anymore, because someone was hurting her and she couldn't see them.

He put as much pressure on her wound as he could. The crimson pool beside her told him she shouldn't lose much more. The sooner she got to a hospital the better. He glanced at her face again. She was really unnaturally pale, and her lips seemed bluish. He folded his fingers around her hands. Freezing, like her face. He lifted her shirt a bit and felt her abdomen. Too cold. He needed something to use as a tourniquet for her arm, and a blanket; tea towels hanging from protrusions on the wall, and if he remembered correctly, a blanket on the couch. Good.

She felt the position of her body change and it caused her pain. For sure, there was someone else here with her, but even though they were hurting her, she still wasn't scared. The pressure on her arm increased and stayed that way. She began to feel really uncomfortable now, and she was constantly being touched.

_Why won't they just leave me alone?_

He'd fastened the tea towel around her arm and wrapped her in the blanket. Then, he had quickly discarded his soaked jacket and pulled her upper body onto his lap, trying to share his body heat. It was then that he became aware of the steady draft which blew softly across the floor. No wonder she was freezing, though it would help minimising the swelling. He began to gently rub her uninjured arm to stimulate her blood flow. Just then he thought he heard her moan.

"Bones?"

Another moan. She was definitely coming round, and he was going to keep her present.

"Stay with me. Stay with me, all right? Come on babe, wake up."

As she concentrated on the distant sound of a voice and it became louder, the pain in her arm grew sharper, and other places began to hurt as well. But she wanted to go to the voice, because she didn't even know where she was and how to get home. The moment she opened her eyes, though, she knew. Everything that had happened. What she'd done.

Finally, she opened her eyes and looked at him. Their distinctive blue colour reassured him. Her pupils contracted in the light, confused and disoriented at first, then dilated a bit. He squeezed her hand and she cringed. He didn't know the force with which she'd thrust the knife into Cummings had caused her fifth metacarpal to tear. Their gazes were locked onto one another, and he caught himself being mesmerised by their depth. But this wasn't the time or place to be having romantic thoughts, especially since pain was written all over her features and tears were forming in her eyes.

"Hey..." His words got stuck in his throat. There was no proper way to tell her what it felt like to see her alive and hold her close, to know she was going to be fine. No phrase seemed adequate enough to express his relief, to tell her that if she had been dead, he wouldn't have made it either.

She was half crying out of pain, exhaustion and relief at the same time. She wanted to tear away her gaze from his hurtful eyes, but couldn't. His eyes seemed deeper than ever, conveying a message which at that moment, she was unable to make out. How in the world had he got here? He was supposed to be at home, to be in a wheelchair… this was all very confusing. How much had she missed while she was out? He— he _was _here, wasn't he? She wasn't dreaming or anything, right? Well, dream or no dream, she hadn't felt this relieved in what seemed like years, and she wanted to cherish the sensation.

"Hey..." she managed to utter. Her voice was trembling and barely audible, but at least she had spoken. She placed the hand that wasn't hurting over his. She needed to feel that he was really there, to be sure that it wasn't some trick of her mind. Somehow she felt she needed to reassure him, too. He seemed so upset. Was she so badly hurt? He cradled her body closer and held her, finally held her close. Her pain suddenly didn't seem as raw as before, and his body was so soft. She inhaled his scent deeply and let it soothe her. God, she'd missed him terribly. Only now did she allow herself to acknowledge the dull but ever-present ache of not having him around, of being far away from each other. He was her partner, her colleague, and so it shouldn't be this way, but she was very good at compartmentalising, and she realised that Booth had gained himself access to the loved-ones compartment. She found herself consoled by his hands softly pressing her against him, and the weight of his head leaning on hers. He would never intentionally hurt her, she was sure. Never. With him, she was safe. She could stop worrying about herself and rely on him. She buried her face in his shirt, and wanted to never let go. She was exhausted, and wished he would pick her up and carry her home, to bed.

"The ambulance will arrive soon," he told her, damning himself for not being able to sound as assertive and reassuring as he wanted to.

His blood was racing through his veins, his heart pounding with happiness and relief. She was alive; she had talked. She was going to be fine. The ambulance would be there soon.

He kept repeating those words in his mind, like a mantra. She seemed more calm than he was. Somehow he'd always imagined she would be better at handling it if something happened to him than he would if something happened to her. If he'd have lost her… the mere thought of it gave him chills. He let her settle in his arms and watched her, allowed her some time to come to her senses, to collect her emotions and realise that she was safe now. But upon remembering the blood and the hole in the right arm of her shirt, his jaw clenched and his relief turned into anger. It was useless, for Cummings was obviously dead, but he still wanted to revenge his partner. Although, she had already done that herself. Did a damn good job, too. Then why was he still so upset? Cummings and Bones were even now. The balance had been restored. He knew he would probably go to hell for thinking this, but he hoped the bastard had suffered enough to compensate all the pain he had caused; if possible. But it was probably far from the truth. It was so unfair, and it infuriated him. He wanted to shake off the feeling to help his partner, even though there was nothing more he could do for her but hold her safe and warm, yet couldn't relax until he had figured out what was eating at him.

"Booth, I think the bullet is— stuck in my right humerus."

Same old Bones; even half conscious, she couldn't help analysing things scientifically. His eyes shot back to hers and the corners of his lips curled upward. Obviously, she was expecting a comment, but he just held her a little closer.

"I'm sure the surgeon will be very capable of taking care of your wound, Bones."

She laughed at herself inwardly; even in pain, she couldn't help attempting at controlling everything. If she could just rely on someone she trusted, for once. The problem was, even if she was able to tell in which bone the bullet was stuck, thus conclude she found herself in reality and not in the middle of some cruel hallucination, she still didn't understand how Booth could be here, holding her as if he was afraid someone would snatch her away from him again.

"And— I didn't expect you to… be here, with me. Where's your wheelchair?"

Of course. That was it! That's what had been bothering him. During their conversation on the phone, she had assumed that he wouldn't be able to be with her this time, that someone else would bring her to safety. She didn't know that he was able to walk again. Somehow it had seemed as if she lost her faith in him, although she would never call it that. It defeated him and he wanted to take it out on somebody, but Cummings was already dead. It's not that he'd been looking forward to shooting him, but… oh hell. Yes he was. Booth was all alpha male and he knew it. He wanted to be the one to make Cummings pay. He wanted to defend her honour.

"I've recovered. But let's not talk about me, okay? Let's take care of you."

She thought he looked so sweet as he said this, trying to maintain his tough-guy attitude, yet almost crying because he'd been so scared and because he was so very relieved to have found her.

He watched her nod her head slightly and his unsettled feeling slowly ebbed away. He was still helping her. Maybe he hadn't come in time to be the one to save her from that maniac, but she still needed his help, she still needed someone to comfort her, and he would do anything to make her feel better. She'd been through enough.

They remained silent, relishing in the comfort of holding each other, until they heard the sirens and the noise became louder. Soon, fast footsteps sounded in the corridor and two teams of paramedics rushed in. Brennan blinked at the sudden frenzy around them and Booth cupped her cheek, forcing her to look in his eyes.

"You're going to be all right, okay?"

She nodded.

"I want to sit up, Booth," she asserted although all she wanted was to cling to the warmth and protection of his arms.

After a preliminary exam of her injuries, Brennan insisted she could walk towards the ambulance, albeit with support from her partner. She would never admit that her head seemed to explode with every step she took and she had to focus extra hard to fight the dizziness, not to mention the nausea and her all-aching body. But eventually, she reached the ambulance. Still not admitting to any kind of physical or mental weakness, she used her last energy to climb into the back and ignored Booth's cooing as she lied down onto the stretcher and briefly closed her eyes. Frankly, all she wanted was to sleep.

Booth had taken a seat on the bench next to her and was holding her hand. The paramedic had covered her with a white sheet. She looked drawn and fragile— well, except for the stubborn look in her eyes. Kind of good to see it again.

"You don't have to hold my hand Booth. I'm a big girl," she sighed, the obvious exhaustion in her voice contrasting her words.

"We're partners, Bones. You've been shot, I hold your hand in the ambulance. That's what partners do. So shut your mouth and get some rest instead."

Again, she sighed to show her stubbornness, yet decided to give up on keeping her eyes open. She decided that she could allow herself to need someone, for once—only this time. She even squeezed his fingers slightly. She decided that she'd rather have him near now, anyway. For both their sakes.

**--**

_**A/N: We can't promise you we'll be able to update next Sunday, as Catherine will come back on Friday and I'll probably be busy myself, but what I can promise you is that chapter 24 is being written and we'll update as soon as possible. We love you! Have a very good day!**_


	24. Logic and the truth

_**A/N: Dearest readers, we want to thank you all for your kind words and interest in our work! You are very patient with us and we are eternally grateful for that. This chapter is shorter than usual – hold your horses; it contains a lot of fluff, we can assure you – but we had to cut it in two because we want to be certain we can update next Sunday. Despite all this; good reading!**_

_--_

**Chapter 24 – Logic and the truth**

When she woke up again, she knew exactly where she was, and why she was there. Hospital. Shot in the arm, plus multiple contusions. She didn't feel that much in pain, actually. As long as she didn't move, probably. Stupidly, she expected Booth to be here. She realised that she had been smiling as she opened her eyes, but her smile died when she realised she was alone. Alone with what she had done.

The warmth created by the mere thought of Booth's presence suddenly faded and made place for remorse, guilt, and despair. She was back. The sunbeams broke through the window, illuminating what she had done, engraving it in her skin like a tattoo. His body was stabbed all over, the metallic scent of blood filling her nostrils. He'd been slaughtered. She'd killed him. She'd lost control completely and ravaged him.

She never lost control.

Her pulse quickened, her eyes widened and her breathing accelerated. The pain from her ribs was becoming more and more appreciable. Her head started to spin, her arm began to burn again, and she felt nauseous.

"_You'll ne— never get a— away with-th this, Doctor Brennan… You— I'll m— make sure you'll remember m— me for the r— rest of— of your miserable l— life. You're— a murderer, Temperance. A m— murderer…"_

How long would she keep hearing those words repeating themselves in her head**? **She groggily opened her eyes, and met with fierce sunlight coming from outside. Her throat felt like its diameter had been reduced to half its former size and even though she didn't even _know _what she was feeling, she was breathing very shallowly, and sounded as if she was sobbing, even if she didn't cry. White light shone upon her face, and she liked it, for it gave her some sense of being cleansed of her memories. It was the kind of light that would pale every colour, and leave no dark places, so that everything was clear to you when they began to regain their own shades.

A cloud drifted in front of the sun and she realised that its light wasn't supposed to be so bright as when it had shone upon her face, for the sun was setting. The sun was setting... and she was alive to see it. She was alive. She was fine. Wasn't it most important?

When Booth opened the door to his partner's hospital room, he was distracted by the beautiful sky outside her window before his eyes settled on her form. He'd been gone from her side for merely five minutes to make some calls, the first one to Angela, and she had chosen those five minutes to wake up in. Typical.

She looked a lot smaller in a hospital bed than when she was bossing people around or pacing through her lab, her blue lab coat billowing behind her, making it seem as though it couldn't keep up with her pace and had to run to catch up. She wasn't looking at him; he wasn't even sure she'd noticed him coming in. Probably not. She seemed to stare at something that didn't exist inside the room.When she was deep in thought— and she was, by the looks of it, she wouldn't hear a bomb if it went off right beside her. He used the opportunity to take in her altered appearance.Thelight colour of her hair didn't look all that strange.It looked good on her, complemented the colour of her eyes quite beautifully and somehow made her look softer. He liked her hair better when it had its own auburn colour though. It was just more like Bones. He caught himself smiling tenderly. When she was just like herself, that was when he loved her most.

The sight of a big tear rolling down her cheek was what set him into motion. He purposefully sat down on the other side of the bed so she wouldn't be forced to face him and he gently touched the tips of his fingers to the knuckles of her hand. Underneath a bandage, an IV was in it, and a white dressing was wrapped around her upper arm, where the bullet had been removed.

Upon his fingers making contact with her skin, her own hand moved after a second, and her slender fingers wrapped around his. Booth took it as a sign that she accepted his comfort and placed his other hand over hers as well. However, she still didn't turn her gaze to him. There were also no more tears escaping the corner of her eye. Maybe she needed a moment to come to herself again.

"What are you doing?" he asked softly, and she let out a slightly shaky sigh.

"I'm just watching the sun set."

As if it explained the tears that moistened her cheeks.

"Why?"

"Because I can."

Finally, she looked at him, and she had this deep look again. Oh damn. Of course. She probably hadn't thought she'd ever be able to see the sun again, when she was back at that apartment, forced to let go of every rational thought because it would only be instinct that was going to save her. If at all she was going to be saved...

"Stupid, right?"

The question startled him, and he saw that she was now forcing a smile. He moistened his lips, gaining himself some time to think about the best answer to give.

"I did it many times during the war," he stated, squeezing her hand a little harder.

She stared at him for a moment, obviously trying to figure out whether it was true or it was just something he'd made up to comfort her. When she was satisfied with his sincerity, she turned her eyes back to the window and let out a sigh.

Somehow she couldn't _not_ share her thoughts with her partner at that moment. He was just too reassuring, too familiar, too comfortable. She felt too free with him. She knew he mercilessly laughed at her sometimes, but at moments like these he was sincerity itself. She was too reckless when it came to her emotions, the very emotions that could get her hurt in the end. But she had to trust him. She had to convince herself she was able to. Because if ever a man could be trusted, it was him.

"His…" she whispered, looking at her hand. "I can't get rid ofthe feeling of his blood on my hands. I killed him. …I'm— a murderer. I had to, but—"

With desperate eyes she looked at her partner and saw her own hurt reflected. He understood. Of course. He'd felt it so many times, too.

"Temperance, you did what you had to," he insisted.

She wanted to accept his words as the truth, but realised they were something she could only believe, for the truth somehow seemed lost in all this. Though for her, it was hard to believe in things. She needed evidence to be convinced. Without evidence, could she ever accept things to be true?

Booth watched the turmoil behind her eyes, and decided she'd had enough for today.

"The doctor said your surgery was without complications. When you're ready, I'm going to take you home."

She nodded and tiredly closed her eyes. He decided he had better not mention the fact that to gain entrance to her room he'd told the doctorthey were married. He had evenmade a joke aboutthe fact that keeping her birth name was a condition she had set, which gave her the impression of not having lost her independency and individuality. Anyway, if she knew what he'd said, she'd be all over him with her fully prepared speech or would simply be annoyed by him, reducing his chances of success for what he was about to propose. _Right. Propose. Nice pun there, bud._

"And I also promised the doctor I would make sure you're not gonna worry too much, so I'll be staying with you. Which leaves you the choice: Wanna go to your place, or back to mine?"

As expected, her eyes opened again to regard him with stubbornness.

"Listen, Booth, I don't need— You don't have to babysit—"

This was probably more of a reflex for her than a heartfelt reply, so he was going to just ignore her protests.

"Bones, you've been a big girl today. Now let me take care of you."

"No."

"Yes," he said firmly, as if he was talking to Parker. "And don't make me call Angela, because she's going to agree with me."

"She's _my _friend. Not yours. She's on _my_ side."

"That's true; she's _your _friend. So she'll only want what's in your best interest, which, right now, is me. Come on, Bones, you've taken care of me for ages. Cooked, worked, cleaned, entertained— I think it's okay if I do something in return now. It's a balance thing, you know."

"You almostmake it sound logical."

"Because it's the truth." Ha! She wouldn't find any way around those things: Logic and the truth. The things which kept Bones sane.

She blinked at him a few times, and realised she was not in a position to gain the upper hand over the man who was currently leaned over her, his gaze so intense it almost made her shut up. Almost.

"I am perfectly able to take care of myself. As long as you bear that in mind, Agent Booth."

"Yeah, you've kind of proven that by now. But that doesn't change the fact that a little help in your situation would be handy, don't you think?"

"All right then," she muttered in surrender and scooted over to the side of the bed. "But don't be so bossy."

To his delight, she threw back the covers and motioned for him to lie with her. Apparently she finally recognised she needed some comfort here.

They both knew that it was anything but appropriate for professional partners to be lying in a bed together in this position— let alone that he spoon her— but, as far as they were concerned, there was room for negotiation on the definition of the term 'partners' in their case.

Booth felt his entire body tingle as he held his partner in his arms and inhaled her feminine scent, which wasn't obscured by hospital smell or lovely perfume. For the first time, he realised, he truly only inhaled her scent. The scent that was Temperance Brennan. The scent that was his Bones. Yes, _his _Bones, for she was _his _partner, and she trusted _him_, and _he _was the one she turned to when she needed to talk, or needed help. He carried a part of her inside him and he knew that a piece of him was with her.

Brennan's eyes were upon the sunset again, and she quietly admired all the different shades of red, pink and orange that made the sky look like a painting. No, like nature, because often, the most beautiful art was found there. Angela had told her this once, and now she could see her point clearly.

Would she feel this relieved every time she was alive to watch the sun disappear behind the horizon?

Booth's chest was pressed so tightly against her back that she could feel his heartbeat, and focused on her own, letting both lull her to sleep. His warm breath pleasantly brushed against her neck, and right before she gave up her conscious mind to a peaceful sleep, the thought came to her that Booth and she seemed to fit together very well. And even without registering what she was implying, she thought that they were not only a physically good match, but that also their different views and experiences had moulded them into two shapes that fit perfectly together.

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_**A/N: Hopefully this was to your liking! Since Catherine graduated this week, she is very happy and already wrote a big part of next chapter. Happy writers tend to equal fluffy writing. Maybe romance, even... So we wish you all a good week and we'll be back next Sunday. Love!**_


	25. Breakfast at Booth's

_**A/N: Dear and faithful readers, I realise this update is a little late, but it's not midnight yet so it's still Sunday. (Yeah I know; lame excuse.) The problem is that Magali is currently moving, so she won't be able to work on NSN until June 30. Actually, she probably doesn't even know I'm updating right now so it'll be a surprise for her ;) . Originally, there was going to be romance in this chapter, but since my dear friend and co-writer hasn't been able to read that part – let alone adapt it, so you'll have to wait a little while. I am aware we're asking a lot of patience from you, but we promise to compensate. Yeah, with BB romance; you're absolutely right. You are in the position to demand that kind of thing now. (Okay; we're going to regret saying this.) Anyway, this chapter is waiting to be read, so good reading!**_

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**Chapter 25 – Breakfast at Booth's**

This time, when she opened her eyes, she was not on the floor of an apartment, or in Booth's arms, or in a hospital bed. Nor was she in an almost unbearable amount of pain. She was in Booth's bedroom. Her head still hurt, and her arm and hand throbbed, but other than that, she felt fine. And a bit hungry. What time was it?

Booth had insisted she use his bed so she would have enough room to put her arm beside her, and a few extra pillows so she wouldn't have to lie flat, which would ease the pain from her bruised ribs. They weren't as badly bruised as last time, fortunately, but the sensations she got when she breathed deeply or turned her upper body were rather unpleasant nonetheless.

Yet, none of those things mattered very much to her. What mattered was that she was able to relax and let her guard down, for she was safe now.Her partner was in the same house—probably still in his own guest room, snoring a little in a way that she found endearing for such a tough FBI guy, and at her service. She didn't know how she felt about that last part, because he was treating her like a child and this would have made her uncomfortable, were it not for the fact that she just... wasn't! It seemed like a part of her surfaced that she had suppressed throughout her adult life, or just had never known was inside her– this sounded ridiculous— a part which enjoyed Booth being around all the time, taking care of her; a very, very _lazy _part that was content with the current situation and, quite shockingly, craved Booth's attention.

The sounds of bare feet on the wooden floors and the pushing down of a door handle told her that her partner had awoken, and was now most likely running his hands through his hair and ambling through the living room, on his way to the kitchen to make some coffee. However, after having crossed the kitchen, the steps were coming _her_ way, and when the door opened, Booth's hair was wet from the shower he had to have taken while she was still asleep. In his hands he carried a tray with some light breakfast for the both of them, and he grinned at her, obviously pleased with the sight of her.

"Hi there, Bones, look what a wonderful breakfast I've made us."

It seemed like he'd never been happier to see her, and he couldn't stop grinning like an idiot.

_Yup, there she is, bud; safely tucked under the covers of _your_ bed._

The smile she gave him made his heart beat but faster, and he carefully sat down beside her after putting the tray on the nightstand.

"Good morning," she smiled and their eyes locked for much longer than would be necessary. There were bruises on her face, but he was going to try and not look at them, for he didn't want to ruin their first breakfast together with his anger and feelings of failure. He was glad to see the sparkle in her soft blue eyes again. They were definitely the mirrors to her soul, and right now, he could tell she was as glad to be back together as he was.

She sat up and he adjusted the pillows behind her back so she could lean into them. Then she pushed herself up on her good arm a bit and Booth sat the tray on his lap.

"There you go," he said as he handed her the cup of tea. "How are you feeling today?"

"Tea for the patient?" She quirked an eyebrow at him. "I'm fine," she answered his question and accepted the tea.

Somehow she didn't need to get used to the fact that he could walk again at all. After all, he'd been walking the entire time she'd known him, save for the relatively small amount of timehe hadn't.

"Yeah? Slept okay?"

In truth, she hadn't fallen asleep until three in the morning, but once she'd been able to kick and punch the memories, and the guilt that accompanied them in particular, to the back of her head, she slept like a rose and got the rest she needed. She wasn't fit enough to jump up and run a few blocks yet, but she felt she would be able to get through the day just fine.

They ate their modest breakfast quietly. She could bring up how happy she was to be back, but that would lead the conversation to what had happened, and for the same reason, Booth decided not to push the matter of talking to the FBI about the events, or talking to him. Those things could wait. For now, he just wanted to enjoy her company, and she his.

"Better than I have in a long time," she finally replied.

"Well good. That's good. All right Bones. I'm gonna change your dressing after breakfast. Got instructions from the doctor. He also gave me something to put on your bruises. Said it would help. A salve of some kind," he shrugged.

"Yeah about that—" she began to say.

"'Bout what?" he asked with his mouth full of bread, and earned himself a laughing shake of her head.

"The doctor referred to _me _as your_ wife_. I wonderwhere he would have got that idea?"

She looked at him questioningly and he swallowed hard.

"Well, I kinda had to tell him, you know, that we were married, because otherwise they wouldn't let me into your room outside visiting hours." Might as well tell her the truth now that she'd already figured out what he'd done.

"Booth, haven't you gone home? You didn't need to sit around and wait for me to be discharged," she scolded him, but felt a warm feeling spread through her body. He really did care a lot about her.

_Thank God she dropped the subject._

"It wasn't like that. And it was not a problem, so _you're welcome _Bones," he went back to their good-natured teasing. Of course he hadn't merely been waiting around for her to sign a piece of paper so he could grab her and take her home as quickly as possible. He just didn't want her to be alone, and quite frankly, he wanted to be the one to stay with her.

"I guess I can forgive you," she said and put the last piece of bread in her mouth. It was a simple breakfast, but it tasted better than anything she'd eaten in weeks.

"Like I said: You're welcome. It was not a problem."

They shared a conspiratorial look and smirked at each other.

Ten minutes later, Booth had put the breakfast tray in the kitchen and retrieved the bandages and gauzes he would need to change her dressings. He'd already helped her get them off so that she could clean up a bit in his bathroom. Now, she was waiting for him on the edge of his bed, dressed in a strap top and a pair of comfortable pants.

"I already pulled the gauze off my stitches," she informed him.

He scrunched up his face.

"Ouch. Well _that _had to hurt."

She shrugged.

"I can handle it."

_Gotta give it to her; taking everything into account, that woman's tougher than some of the men in the army._

"Are you gonna do my dressing?" she inquired impatiently, nodding towards the supplies in his hands.

He sat down beside her and took her arm in his hands carefully, studying her wound. It was going to leave a bad-ass scar on her, for sure.

"You don't need to be so careful, Booth, you're not going to hurt me," she criticised how loosely he was wrapping the bandage around her arm. The moment the words left her mouth, though, she regretted them, for the infamous smirk of Seeley Booth appeared on his face and she just knew he was up to mischief.

"Ouch!" she shrieked as he pinched her side. "Booth!"

"See? I can hurt you."

She looked at him disapprovingly and shook her head at his childish behaviour. Then her expression became more serious.

"Yeah, but you're not going to. Are you?" she asked quietly.

"No," he assured her. "You're safe with me, Bones."

"Right." She needed this conversation to continue on a lighter note, because she might just start sincerely believing him.

"Of course! Bones, I'd take a bullet for you. You know that, right?"

"I'd give you a kidney."

"I'd give you half my brain."

She laughed dearly.

"I don't think _that_'ll do me much good, Seeley Booth."

He started laughing as well, couldn't help it.

"You might just be surprised what's in there, _Temperance Brennan_, you just might."

_Yeah, _he mused, _she just might... _He finished dressing her arm and continued to put a pressure dressingon her right hand. Next, he screwed the top off the tube containing the salve for the bruises, and squeezed a little onto his finger, proceeding to smear it on the bruise under her eye. She recoiled from his finger though.

"It's _green_!"

"Yeah I can see that Bones. Sit still now, will ya? Don't be so damn _vain_."

"I am not vain," she insisted, but held still so Booth could gently apply the salve.

"Of course you aren't," he replied with a grin.

"Do you have any more bruises?" he inquired when he was done with her face and arms.

"Yes, they're all over me, so where would you like to start?" she replied defiantly and lowered her eyes to the floor after a moment before raising her gaze and meeting his. He looked totally confused, much the same as she was by her own sudden change of tone. And if even he couldn't figure out why she'd said or done something she had, she herself was lost completely.

She hadn't meant to snap at him. She knew he wanted an explanation but wouldn't push her to give it. Somehow this was what made her decide to tell him anyway. It was frustrating not to know the truth, and the truth in this case was that she hoped if he knew about what had happened to her, maybe he could give them both the explanation for her strange behaviour. So it would be okay to tell him the facts of yesterday morning.

"I was waiting in an alley when he came up behind me and put a chloroform-soaked cloth over my mouth. When I woke up in the apartment, he explained everything to me. You're right by the way; I really don't know when to shut up. I made him angry. And paid the price, as you can see. My body was... weak because of the chloroform, so I decided not to fight back when he started to kick me. I was on the floor and protected my major organs to prevent internal bleeding."

Booth stared at her, his eyes filled with sympathy and protectiveness as she stood up from the bed and lifted the hem of her top, exposing her back and abdomen. His eyes turned wide as he spotted the bruised areas- as she'd said; all over her body. Cummings had to have kicked her around like a rag doll. Unwanted images drifted into his mind, igniting his anger.

_He's dead, he's dead. It's over, she's with me, she's safe. Calm down, bud. Get yourself under control here and just take care of her._

"I'd have killed him for this," he finally spoke and started to apply the salve to the bruised areas on her skin. He was going to be as nice and complying as she would want. She needed to understand that he, or anyone else for that matter, would never blame her for sudden outbursts of emotion or changes of mood. Especially not after what she'd gone through.

He couldn't help thinking she was beautiful. And muscular. Her skin was tightly stretched over her abs and tiny waist, and seemed flawless but for the bruises. She brought up the gentleman in him in a way he didn't even understand how, because when he touched her, all that was on his mind was how he wanted to take care of her and make her feel better. It wasn't what he normally felt when he touched the woman he was in love with. Well, not the only things, in any case. He was still a man, of course. Bones used to say it herself; everyone has biological urges.

"I know you would have. It's what you always want to do when I get hurt, but you're going to get yourself in prison one day, so I'd rather you stick with incapacitating them."

His fingertips smoothed the salve over the largest bruise from where she'd been kicked in the stomach a couple times, and despite his extra careful movements, she flinched.

"Sorry," they said simultaneously, and smiled.

"Thank you for telling me that, Bones. I know it's hard for you to talk about these things."

"I know everybody thinks that, but in truth I just don't see how it can help me. What's happened has happened, and not any amount of talking is going to change that, so why would I dig up hurtful facts merely because of psychologists' insistence that it helps me deal with past events? I don't mind talking about it, I just don't see the point. But, if you'd really like me to, I am willing to share some facts with you, but only the facts, for I don't think it's necessary to tell you that I was very afraid for my life, and concerned about the well-beings of the people who are my friends and colleagues. I am aware that not everyone compartmentalises and deals with unfortunate events the way I do, so that it's harder for them. And I'd regret very much to cause you all pain."

Booth finished with the bruises on her back and turned back to her.

"You were scared. That's good, Bones, It means you have something to lose. It is proof of how much you care about us."

When he was finished, she tried to peel her shirt down with one hand, but he saw her struggling with it and smoothed it back over her torso for her.

"There. All taken care of," he said, and she had this light, warm feeling again. What was more, she felt like wrapping her arms around her partner and hugging him. Which would be very unprofessional on her account, of course. To her satisfaction though, her partner had already taken the initiative by placing his big, warm hands on her shoulders, and she stepped closer to him. Even though she wasn't cold, she welcomed the warmth of his body as if she were freezing.

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_**A/N: That was nice, wasn't it? Let's all cross fingers that Magali will be with us again soon, so we can go on with the show! Love you all**_


	26. Anything for you

_**A/N: To the kindest, most patient and most faithful readers of FanFiction: You are amazing! Amazing for your lovely comments and suggestions, for forgiving us when we have to keep you waiting two weeks instead of one, and most of all for reading our story. We feel very honoured and delighted that our writing gives you joy. Finally, finally romance looms on the horizon. Better start reading...**_

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**Chapter 26 – Anything for you**

Usually, he hated to do this, and waited until the very last moment to, when Parker's solicitations became insufferable enough for him to give up. Usually, he would have thought that it was a little too early in the year to do it. But this year was different. Booth sponged a last stain away before he looked up at the sky with a smile. It was a steel blue and emanated freshness. He was in the backyard, cleaning the garden furniture so they could have lunch outside. The wind was a bit too cold for them not to wear a jacket, but the sun was shining brightly and after the former cloudy days, it would have been stupid not to make the most of it. He figured some sunbeams on her face would do her good, and even if they didn't, the lunch he was going to prepare would.

By now, this new phase in their relationship had become natural. He protected her, she looked after him and kept him grounded; she knew how to heal his injuries, he knew how to comfort her. She made the yummiest mac and cheese in the whole world, he was the best with a barbecue—unpretentiously, of course. They were the best together. Yes, they were good together. And now, in truth, the idea of her not living in this house anymore wasn't even conceivable to him. What when he'd wear out all the possible excuses to keep her with him?

"Bones? Bones, where are you?" Booth called as he entered the house.

He left the sliding door wide open to allow some fresh air into the living room, and waited for his partner to answer him from wherever she was at the moment.

Silence.

Strange, she'd been on the phone on his couch like one minute ago, waving at him from behind the window.

He walked further into the living room, glanced around, and continued into the kitchen. Where the hell was she?

A wave of anguish mixed with nausea washed through him, and even though he knew it wasn't rational, he wasn't able to chase it. When he turned to walk into the hall to check the bathroom, he was facing the living room, and there, on the couch, was his partner, fast asleep. The backrest was what had obscured her form from his vision when he had stood in the living room before, and he allowed himself a moment for the slight rush of adrenaline to wear off. When would he stop presuming the worst when she was out of his visual field?

_She's just taking a nap, bud. Just taking a nap on your couch. She's allowed to do that, you know._

He held still to watch her for a moment. She was lying on her side, her cheek resting in her left hand, her bandaged right hand beside her face. Her hand wasn't healing as fast as she'd like, and it was still painful. Auburn curls framed her face. She'd had her hair dyed auburn after a few days, said she didn't understand why people claimed that blondes had more fun since she obviously hadn't had any fun while she'd been blond. He smiled subconsciously. Her knees were pulled up slightly. Her fair skin seemed to glow against the dark brown colour of his couch. Her lips were an adorable shade of pink and the sight of her fine nose and delicate features brought a smile to his face. She was just so damn cute and amazingly unaware of it. He even loved her feet. He realised he'd never actually seen them, and thought about how intimate they'd become, really.

Now, when they watched TV, they sat snuggled against each other, and sometimes he even had his arm around her shoulders. They chatted lightly during meals, laughing a lot, teasing a hell of a lot. If a stranger were to observe them, they were bound to wonder how they could still be such good friends despite the words they threw at each other sometimes. He criticised her lame social skills, she mocked his lack of knowledge of general culture; he called her arrogant, she treated him insufferable; he claimed she was wrong, she spoke her mind louder.

What he did not know, was that when they were on the verge of truly arguing and she rolled her eyes at him as a last statement instead of taking on the fight, she didn't want to change the atmosphere of familiarity and intense friendship by pushing his buttons and annoying him so he'd get angry with her. She did that sometimes, without knowing why, really. Maybe to remind him that he may be an alpha male, but she was an alpha female, and she wanted them to be equal, so they had to be aware of each other's tendencies and opinions. Yes. Maybe that was it.

However, sometimes, when he walked in and she'd been alone for a little while, there was this expression on her face that told him she wasn't completely fine yet. He often listened to her tossing and turning at night; it felt like some kind of intrusion on her privacy, he knew that, but he just couldn't help it. Obviously, she had a hard time falling asleep. They'd switched rooms a few days ago, when she insisted that her arm was all better and he could have his bed back. Secretly, he hadn't changed the sheets. A part of him found it silly and childish, but this way, he could go to sleep and wake up with her scent filling his nostrils. And this same part of him laughed when he caught himself longing for the day when she would be next to him in person.

He'd wanted to kiss her on so many occasions he couldn't even remember all of them. During dinner, during lunch, in the morning when she got out of the bathroom looking all fresh and beautiful, in the afternoon when she sat at the table, reading her forensic journals with interest, late at night when she was getting tired, in the bathroom as they brushed their teeth... Not that it had never occurred to him before, but now they lived together, they were so many occasions, so many temptations, that it sometimes made him close to crazy.

Yes, he got it bad and he knew it, but he would not make a move until he was convinced she was fine again. She was still in a fragile state and if he took advantage of that now, they would start off on the wrong foot. Yes, it could ruin everything. And yes, he knew better than to rush, even if it was killing him slowly. It was damn hard to hold back sometimes, but it was necessary, and maybe the first move would be harder than this unbearable wait he imposed to himself. Besides, she hadn't rejected him in any way until now, and they were crossing another line each day, albeit subtly. She had to have noticed, be aware of what they were doing, but apparently she seemed too comfortable to feel the need to create space between them again.

A sigh escaped his lips and he awoke from his musings. As it was but reasonable to spend all day watching her sleep, he turned on his heels and decided to get the things he needed to make lunch and wake her when he was ready to start cooking. She deserved to slumber for a little while, which would prevent her from getting all cranky. So he went into the kitchen and put everything on the counter, then came back to the living room and crouched near the couch, feeling slightly guilty for interrupting her peaceful sleep.

"Bones, wake up," he whispered and placed his hand on her shoulder instead of the milky skin of her face that he would have loved to brush with he tips of his fingers. She frowned in response, then grudgingly opened her eyes.

"How long have I slept?" she asked, lifting her head and squinting in the light.

"For about an hour," he replied as he sat down by her mid-section.

"Ah, damn it," she cursed, and turned onto her back, placing a hand over her eyes.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," she said with a yawn.

"You're not getting enough sleep at night, are you?"

She heaved a sigh. "I'm all right, Booth."

"Are you having nightmares?"

She let out a quick, mirthless laugh. "I hardly ever have nightmares, Booth. I'm just... I'm not like that."

"I know you had nightmares after Cummings abducted you—the first time—I mean—"

He bit his lower lip so hard he drew blood. At the mention of Cummings' name, Brennan brought both hands to her eyes as something seemed to snap inside her.

_Seeley Booth, you're an idiot. What need did you have to make her remember? She might be strong but she hasn't recovered yet, so be careful with her!_

"Hey," Booth said softly as he shifted his hand from her shoulder to her head, where he gently stroked her hair as her eyelids were doing their best to force back the tears which had shot to her eyes. "It's over, it's okay. He's—"

"Let's stop talking about him, okay?" she said, wiping a tear off her cheek with an angry gesture, and his heart ached for his partner, his girl feeling so miserable that she looked like she was about to burst out in tears on his couch.

"You feel sorry for killing him." It wasn't a question; he could read her like an open book. And unfortunately, this feeling was all too familiar to him.

"No, I don't. Why would I?" She talked in her best neutral tone but she couldn't fool him. He knew when she was upset, and when she was hiding her feelings.

"It doesn't matter whether you know you did the right thing or not. I know how you feel."

She let out a chuckle that sounded more like a sob to him. "This isn't the first time I killed someone, Booth."

"There are some things you can get used to, Bones. And some others you never will. You can get used to seeing horrors. You can never forget the lives you took."

"There's always a price to pay, right?"

"Always," he confirmed in a sympathetic voice. He never lied to her, would never do.

She averted her eyes from his for a moment, looking as if she needed some time to accept the truth.

"You know what?" She let her gaze meet his again. "You're right. I feel sorry, I do. I wish I had made him undergo at least as much pain as he inflicted upon me."

Booth shook his head in negation. "That's not true, Bones."

"Yes, it is," she asserted, her voice slightly trembling this time. "And at the same time, I wish I couldn't remember how it felt digging the knife into his flesh. I wish I didn't take pleasure in doing it, and—"

"You did not, believe me. You did not."

"Yes I did. I'm a killer, Booth. I've become just like the people we work to catch. I acted with—"

At this point, he couldn't stand it anymore, and grabbed her wrist maybe a little too tight, but he needed her full attention for what he was about to tell her.

"You're not like them, you hear me? Temperance, this is NOT. Your. Fault. Okay? There is _nothing_ you could have done differently to spare him. He tried to kill you, that gives you the _right _to fight back. It was your right. You did the right thing. _You _were _right_."

"I don't know, it's—I don't know—"

It seemed that this time she couldn't take it anymore, for she started crying quietly. As if it was just what he had been waiting for to happen, he wrapped his arm around her back and let her rest her head on his shoulder.

"It's gonna be okay, Bones," he said comfortingly. "You'll be okay. You can live with this, all right? You can do it, just like I do."

After a short moment, she pulled apart, sniffed and stared at him with red-rimmed eyes, their blue colour clouded with tears.

"Do you really mean it?" she asked him with a weak voice as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Booth took her face between his hands and looked as intently into her eyes as he could, trying to push his words as far into her brain as possible, so that they would stick there for once.

"Yes. That is the truth."

For a moment she looked at him disbelievingly, as if his words had just caused a miracle to happen. Good. He finally got through to her. He slowly removed his hands from her face and smiled reassuringly at her. Her lips parted as if she was going to say something, but she seemed stunned into silence, her big, teary blue eyes blinking once, and then, without giving it any thought whatsoever, she lunged forward and grabbed his face between her hands as she pressed her lips to his, kissing him.

To her, it was pure emotion that drove her to this act. For a moment she'd been stunned, numb, unable to feel anything. Then, suddenly, she was filled with emotions, overwhelmed by them. Relief, finally. Gratitude for her partner. An astounding sense of safety, an amazing realisation hitting her that it was really over, and everything had ended well. And then something way deeper, way more powerful, way more stable somehow ...was it—was it love? She supposed it was love that knocked out her brain and gave her heart control over her body, that was kissing him, kissing him as if her life depended on it.

To say that Booth was taken aback was an understatement. He honestly could _not _believe what was happening. Was she actually kissing him, pressing her soft lips hard against his, hungrily almost? It had to be a dream. Her tongue darted out and added to the sensation of being in heaven. She made him feel what she felt, and it caused everything else to fade. The whole world had disappeared; and it was just them, kissing. He tasted her salty tears as he laid his hands on her waist and then wrapped his arms around it. They were perfect together. Perfect.

Finally, some thoughts were able to seep into his foggy mind, and he realised that he was taking advantage. It was as if she truly _needed_ to kiss him, and so he'd let her, but it was time for him to back down, to regain some control over the situation or he couldn't be sure what was going to happen next. He didn't want her to do anything she'd later on regret, so he slowed down and felt her slow down with him, until their lips met one last time, and she collapsed against his chest, burying herself in him.

"Thank you," she whispered, breathless.

He closed his arms around her, pressed his cheek in her soft hair, inhaled her scent.

"Anything for you Bones. Always. You know that."

--

_**A/N: Aw, wasn't that sweet? How's that for romance? You're probably not going to believe it, but we have planned even more! Catherine will really be able to enjoy her vacation now and Magali is done moving and settling in her new home, so we hope to create an ending that this story deserves, and keep you waiting no longer than necessary. Hopefully we'll see you all next week for chapter 27. For the record; we might not make it as Catherine's about to go on vacation, but we have a few days left and we'll do our very very best for you. Lots of love!**_


	27. Never say never

_**A/N: We're lucky to have you for readers, you're wonderful, and so are your reviews. Thank you. In return, we promise you a chapter full of romance. Relax and enjoy!**_

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**Chapter 27 – Never say never**

Never in her life had she bothered to enjoy a cool spring night like this night. She had never taken time to. She had always had something else to do, something more important than stopping and admiring nature or closing her eyes to hear better the sounds of it. She had never found anything wonderful about it. Frankly, there was little she found more wonderful than her job, or than writing. The moon was just a star illuminated by the sun; the stars were just stars, or planets, or satellites. The breeze was just air moving, the crickets were just insects. Unlike most people, she couldn't see what was surreal or magical about it.

Never in her life had she dated a man who had been her friend for so long. She usually chose men whom she took care not to develop a too deep emotional attachment with. She made sure she was always in control of the relationship. It was her in charge, or no one. She decided when to start, when to take steps, when to slow down and when to stop. It wasn't difficult to move on. She was brilliant, wealthy and beautiful; she always found a date when she needed one.

But, also because she was all those desirable things, she knew those dates would never be anything more than that. And even when she'd tried, once or twice, it had turned out to be a disaster, and caused her to make the decision to place an even thicker wall between herself and other people. No, never in her life had she allowed a man to take her on such a date as the current one. She wasn't the kind of woman who's looking for romance. Actually, she always did her best to avoid it. Fulfilling her biological and intellectual needs was enough for her. Or at least had she been thinking so. Having had a taste of something new and delicious makes it hard to go back...

"Here."

She turned her head to look at him smiling proudly and realised he had just put his jacket over her shoulders. Never in her life had she allowed anyone to do that, especially not a man. She was a big girl. She could use her own clothes, and she could manage if she was cold. Normally, she'd rather offer a guy her jacket than accepting theirs. But Booth knew she was independent, so she didn't need to be so blunt about it anymore. If it was that important to him, she could accept this caring gesture for once.

"So what do you think?"

She could see his eyes were glowing like the shining stars in the dark sky. It was the look of him she liked the most. She did realise that she had voluntarily got rid of this little something that links you to childhood, that little something that makes you see things from a different angle. Booth hadn't lost it. He was still able to enjoy things in a childish manner; to have so much fun he nearly started to giggle, or to get overly excited at the mere mention of pirates and cowboys. She found it amusing, almost endearing to watch him get that childish spark again and forget all about being a tough and intimidating FBI agent. It was true; he could be so many things. Secretly, she envied that quality.

"It's a beautiful sight," she said after a contented sigh.

A better sight was the pale light of the moon and the shadows of the night reflecting on the milky skin of his partner, Booth thought to himself. If he could only allow himself to touch it... The both painful and wonderful memory of her lips on his was but at its strongest right now, making his heartbeat quicken. If he could just let himself brush his fingers against her skin... But she had already accepted a lot, this night. Stupidly, he had been afraid to scare her, so he had given as a pretext that there was nothing left to eat to invite her to the restaurant. Not a classy one really, just a regular Italian restaurant that he knew of. And now he had managed to bring her to the top of this hill he liked to go walk on with Parker. He had never thought to be sitting here with her, one day. It was so clichéd. But it had happened.

"Yeah, it's magical, right?"

She laughed quietly, staring at the stars, before she turned her gaze to him slowly. "So, what, now? Are you going to kiss me or something?"

The weight of her gaze and the slightly mocking tone of her voice made him feel uncomfortable like he had never been before in front of a woman. God, she actually knew how to intimidate people and do it well.

"Well," he said, shrugging in order to hide his embarrassment, "last time you didn't need me to initiate that kind of action, so I sort of think it's up to you, plus I wouldn't like it if you slapped me for being inappropriate."

"You really think I'd do that?" she asked, puzzled.

That was the look that fitted her the most. Sometimes he intentionally brought up some references about popular culture that he knew she had never heard about, just to get to see this look stretched on her face.

"I've seen you do worse damage to a guy, you know."

That was certainly true. As long as he kept that in mind.

"Well, if it reassures you; I don't intend to slap you right now."

She would never hurt him intentionally. Maybe if he really had it coming, but certainly not when it was his intention to kiss her. At first, she'd been ashamed about what she did, about how vulnerable she'd let herself be in that moment when she kissed him for the first time. It had been a good kiss though. Probably worth the trouble. And who knew, she might have opened the way to finding out what it really was that had formed itself between them now.

"Right now?" he said, pretending to be offended. "So you don't completely dismiss the idea of slapping me one day?"

"What if you deserve it?"

"What if I'm full of good intentions and you think I deserve it but I don't?"

"Well, then you could slap me back," she challenged.

"What? You know I don't hit women, Bones. I'd rather break my fist against the wall than hurting you."

"So it would be conceivable to you that I hit you, but not that you'd hit me back. Even when I deserve it."

"You're saying you want me to hit you?"

"No, just that you should know that I want us to be equal. In every aspect, Booth. If you're not going to hit me then I'm not going to hit you."

Ah, if this also went the other way around, it would open the way to a lot of fun, Booth mused to himself as he imagined touching her, and she having to touch him back, and so many other situations in which her statement could serve him to be in the advantage.

"You've changed your opinion, then."

"I don't change my opinions unless there is a substantial amount of evidence that suggests I ought to."

"Earlier you said that you don't completely dismiss the idea of slapping me one day."

"No, that's what you assumed."

"It's what you confirmed."

"You confuse me."

"Same here."

There was a short silence with them staring at each other before they burst out laughing. Those were their best moments, when they laughed together. They weren't a doctor and an FBI agent anymore, then. They weren't partners who entrusted their lives to the other and shared the experiences of a bunch of dangerous and terrifying situations. They were just Booth and Brennan, just two friends. And maybe something more.

"Okay, I have to be honest here, Booth," Brennan begun after their laughter died. "This was one of the best dates I've ever had."

After their first kiss, yes, the one she had initiated in a moment of weakness, they had eaten lunch outside as if nothing had happened. As if nothing had shifted between them. On the one hand, she had been grateful that he didn't bring it up, because it would embarrass her, on the other hand, not knowing what it had meant to him made her slightly anxious. What if she had ruined something? Suddenly, she had become quiet, turned inward, and that night Booth had brought it up by telling her what happened that afternoon was obviously bothering her, so he was going to tell her what he thought. His kind words had reassured her a lot, assuring her that it was okay, that sometimes your mind just shuts off and you take a chance. And, most importantly, that he didn't mind. "You're quite the kisser, Bones," he'd teased her, causing her to burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of their situation.

Then, this evening, they'd run out of groceries for dinner, and Booth had taken her to this restaurant. She had agreed; the bruises on her face had faded enough to be obscured completely by make-up, so she felt comfortable to go out again. They hadn't even changed into something nicer, because he had told her to wear something comfortable. Jeans, plain shirt and jacket it had become. After dinner, they'd gone outside for a walk, and ended up climbing a rock-paved path that she wouldn't classify as such, to the top of this hill, where the grass was soft and tickling, and the air cool and dry. Booth seemed to be in his element, tonight, and to be honest, she enjoyed watching him happy.

Booth chuckled. "Who said it was a date?"

"Obviously, it was."

"No, I told you I didn't have time to go buy some groceries, so I—"

"So you brought me to a nice Italian restaurant, before—"

"You've just said it was nice, so what are you complaining about?"

"—before leading me to some sort of secret place where you bring all your girlfriends."

Booth's lips stretched into a satisfied smile. "So this is what it is about, right? You're jealous."

"What?"

"You're jealous."

"No, I'm not."

"Of course you are."

"I'm not. I was just making an assumption."

"Well, you're quite wrong, Bones. Except for Parker, I've never showed this place to anybody."

"Oh, c'mon, Booth. Don't take me for a fool, please."

"So now you think I'd lie to you?" he said with a weaker voice, looking hurt.

She bit her lower lip, immediately regretting her words. It was the truth that this was the best date she had ever been on. Unfortunately, it also seemed to be the truth that she couldn't help ruining it because it was too good to last. Or because, obviously, the sudden realisation that she had allowed him too deep inside and it was too late to go back, terrified her.

She shook her head weakly, averting her gaze. "I never said that."

Gently, he took her chin between his thumb and index finger to force her to look at him, as he often did. "There's no need to rush, Bones. Let's just take it slow, you know? Just like we always do."

Her eyes dropped to the ground and she remained silent.

"Look. I know you, Bones. Better than you think. Like it or not, I know what you're thinking and I know how you're feeling."

"Me and relationships..."

"Okay, Bones, first of all, this is different, what we have. At least I like to believe so. What's between us—It's special, don't you think? And stable enough to build something on. I don't care how long it will take, and I don't care how hard it might be. What matters is; you're here, and I'm here, and our hearts are beating."

He paused for a few seconds, considering the words that had just escaped his mouth; wondering if he hadn't gone too far for tonight.

"At least, mine is," he added in a whisper, and he let go of her chin, but didn't let his eyes off of her.

He respected her silence for a moment, knowing that she needed time to get her thoughts together. Then suddenly she buried her face in his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her comfortingly. The way she cuddled up against him was unusual; it was as if she needed him to protect her from her own doubts, her own fears. He started stroking her back with his thumb, thoughtfully; she tightened her arms around him.

Only when she decided to, they pulled apart slowly and she raised her gaze to him. She looked different, now. Fear had left her eyes which were now filled with confidence and tenderness.

"Objectively, I'd say that I'm in love with you," she admitted.

He let out a laugh, both from joy and because what she'd just said was priceless. "Bones!"

"What?"

"Bones, there's nothing objective about love."

"I said that because analysing my feelings and my physical reactions in different situations involving you, led me to the conclusion that—"

The need to interrupt her scientific speech, and because he had been waiting for so long and he couldn't take it anymore, made him press his lips against hers suddenly, obliging her to stop talking. She immediately forgot her rational reasoning and answered the kiss, not without finding it annoying that he held such power over her. But she'd better get used to it, hadn't she?

On the way back to the car, they took their time, because that was the deal, to take it slow. But they didn't keep themselves from bickering, because that was them; and they didn't hold each other's hand, because that wasn't them. Not yet, at any rate. Not any time soon.

"All right, Bones, be a little honest here and admit out loud that there's nothing rational about love."

"Dopamine and norepinephrine stimulate euphoria because of certain biological triggers like scent, symmetrical features—"

"Say it!"

She rolled her eyes in an annoyed manner. "I don't even know why I'm discussing this with you."

He placed himself in front of her to force her to look him dead in the eye. "C'mon, you know I'm right. Just say it one time."

"All right, you want me to be completely honest with you? Well, what's for sure is that I'll never go back to that Italian restaurant with you. The garlic bread was hard as a rock, pasta tasted like sand and the Bolognese sauce didn't taste like anything, I might as well have been eating carbon," she threw at his face with a mocking smile before she walked past him.

"Right... But you know what they say, Bones," he raised his voice, quickening his pace to catch up with her. "Never say never!"

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_**A/N: You might have figured it out already: I'm sorry to say that this chapter is the last one, which will be followed by an epilogue next Sunday. But you do know that we're going to think of another story, and be back soon. Anyway, see you next Sunday for the epilogue!**_


	28. Epilogue

_**A/N: My apologies, I was supposed to post this on Sunday but just like Catherine, I was away from home. Here it is, the absolute last chapter of Never Say Never. We hope this will leave you all satisfied. The good thing about this chapter, is that you can read into some things our favourite characters say if you're in for even more fluff. So this is sort of interactive reading! Well then, interpret this any way you'd like... Good reading!**_

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**Chapter 28 – Epilogue**

_One year later_

"There have been many changes in my life since I started on my first book, both professionally and in private, and I believe that they have been for the best. For that, I'd like to thank my father, my brother and his family, my friends and co-workers at the Jeffersonian Institute, and finally my partner, Special Agent Seeley Booth, for allowing me to fully experience the world outside my lab and showing me that there's more than one kind of family. Thank you all for coming tonight."

With a nod and a smile, Brennan ended her speech and loud applause erupted from the public. Her smile grew wider as she spotted her partner, friends and her family, who had all risen from their seats and were enthusiastically clapping their hands, beaming with pride. A warm feeling spread through her body as she realised that they were here for her, and that they were proud of her achievements, and even though she'd always claimed she didn't need anyone to be proud of her, it made her blush.

Her publicist mounted the stairs to the stage and squeezed her shoulder, telling her she was brilliant and thank-you, and turned to the public. Brennan felt as though she was floating as she descended the stairs and walked up to the people she longed to take in her arms and tell them how grateful she was that they were here for her. Her nieces, both wearing cute dresses, their hair dancing on their shoulders, jumped up and ran towards her, taking her hands and pulling her to their level for a hug and a kiss.

"Auntie Tempe, you were _so _cool up there! You're famous!" they sang.

Next was Russ, who'd taken the trouble to suit up for the occasion, and Amy, looking wonderful in a modest red dress. Zack, Cam, Angela and Hodgins, all looking marvellous in their suits and dresses, kissed her on the cheek and shook her hand. Her father pressed her against his chest, always an action that caused her to have the still foreign sensation of being careless and loved unconditionally.

"I'm so proud of you honey," he whispered in her ear, "Your mother would have been, too. She always said she knew you'd do amazing things one day. You've proved her right."

The mention of her mother struck a chord deep within her, and she had to blink back tears. Every day still, she missed her mom. The fact that she was not here caused her to feel a stab of infinite grief at the happiest moments of her life, like now, on the night they celebrated the success of the publishing company as well as her achieving the status of most successful young author, with her latest novel also becoming New York Times' number one bestseller.

But the momentary distraction from the happy events was forgotten as soon as she stepped into the arms of her partner. Her partner, in more than one sense of the word. He'd been awaiting her with the widest of smiles and a twinkle in his eyes. He watched her coming towards him, adoration written all over his features, his hands held out to her. She felt beautiful under his gaze. Her dress was low-cut, though decent enough, and left part of her back and shoulders bare. Her fair skin seemed to glow against the black fabric, tightly hugging the lines of her slender body, her long legs stepping gracefully in high heels. Her eyes were crystalline like a sharp blue winter sky and auburn curls cascaded down her shoulders, catching the light almost ethereally.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him until their foreheads were touching as well as the tips of their noses. They looked into each other's eyes, smiling for a reason nobody else would ever understand.

"That's my girl," he said simply and kissed her sweetly on the lips.

She rested her head on his shoulder for a second, pressing herself into him, relishing in the feeling of his fingers fanned out over her back, holding her lovingly and, as always, a little protectively.

They all sat down to listen to Brennan's publicist announcing the program for the rest of the night, but none of her words really got through to Booth and Brennan, who were sitting in adjacent chairs, their fingers intertwined, their eyes upon the other's and a much-conveying smile playing on their lips.

_Wanna get out of here?_

_As soon as possible._

"Are you tired?" he asked her, turning his head to glance at her over his shoulder. They were at Brennan's apartment, changing into more comfortable clothes in her bedroom.

"A little," she admitted as she stood in her underwear and looked for something to wear.

She was beautiful to him. Her hair had grown longer than before that fateful undercover mission, making her look more girly and classier at the same time. He recalled the feel of it as he slipped the locks through his fingers. He liked her hair, loved to play with it as her head lay in his lap. When he'd stayed over during the weekend, he found her in the morning, sitting on the carpet, legs crossed, typing away on her laptop as her back rested against the couch. At those times he knew better than to disturb her, but despite this couldn't refrain from touching her. Being able to touch her pretty much whenever he wanted was a strange, euphoric kind of freedom, and he was sure he'd never grow tired of it. As she was lost in another world that existed solely in her mind when she wrote, this state of hers provided him with the opportunity to sit behind her and braid her hair so it was out of her face. He relished in the homeliness of it all. He hoped he would be able to do the same when they were sixty. He hoped that when he died, it would be in her arms.

"But I'm up for it if you are," Brennan said, bringing her partner out of his thoughts and referring to one of their habits; taking a walk when the streets were dark and quiet, to talk or just to think in each other's presence.

The relationship they had was formed from their bond, from the deep connection they shared. Booth was no stranger to romantic relationships with women, yet this one with his partner was as new to him as it was to her. They were both dominant, but in their own areas, and mostly they just switched, depending on the situation. His Bones never expected him to read into anything, she was always honest and forward with him, allowing him to do the same. It was liberating. They knew that as long as they could be perfectly honest with each other, they would hold.

In the beginning, Brennan had really had to force herself into having faith in their relationship. Secretly, she'd been training herself for commitment and above all, trust. Trust in love, trust in life. Trust that he wouldn't be taken away from her, trust that she wouldn't run. So just to practise being open, vulnerable, and getting used to the new sensation of love she felt for this man, _her _man, she used to whisper words to him when he was asleep. Words she hadn't been ready to say when he was awake yet.

"_I feel safe with you, Booth."_

"_It's the truth that I love you."_

"_Booth, thank you for showing me."_

As for him, she didn't have anything to complain about; he left her the space she needed, was caring and protective, though not in a suffocating way. Enough to make her feel safe. He accepted her independence, respected it even, and those things were enough for her. On the contrary of what people seemed to assume; she did not have an extended demands-package when it came to men. What she needed was not at all abnormal; she just wanted the other to love and respect her the way she was. Both her parents had been strong characters, with many a conflicting point of view, but their relationship worked because they had fallen in love with the other person's qualities, not the views.

Not an awful lot between them had changed though, despite their new level of intimacy. They had shared more about their pasts with each other. Brennan's revelations about her life in foster care and Booth's about his experiences in the army had brought tears to both their eyes, and he hadn't been ashamed, for he could lean on her like she could on him. On the other hand, when she would ask him to do something, and he didn't do it fast enough, she could get really pissed, but she didn't scare him anymore. Certainly not after the few times their fights had ended up being resolved between tangled sheets. Whatever their mood, it all felt perfectly natural to the both of them.

They stepped out of the apartment building, onto the deserted streets, a cool breeze caressing their faces. She was wearing a long, brown coat, a matching belt tied around her waist, while he wore his long black coat, making them look like quite the stylish couple. Booth had his arm around her shoulders and hers had snaked around his waist, keeping each other warm. Whatever the nature of it, their relationship would remain symbiotic.

Booth sighed in contentment and rested his head on hers for a moment, then pressed a kiss into her hair. He marvelled in her scent; he would recognise it always.

A year ago, it had taken him two weeks to run out of excuses to keep her with him. Eventually, her wounds had healed, her bruises faded, his legs had regained their normal strength and Parker had asked them, confusedly, whether Bones was living with his daddy or not. His innocent words had caused their bubble of feigned oblivion towards the temporary nature of their situation to burst, and that night Brennan had begun to talk about moving back into her apartment. They had both secretly been reluctant, but they knew that living together was not included in the definition of 'taking it slowly'.

Especially during the first week after she had left, he felt alone and missed her terribly. His house suddenly felt so empty without her smell lingering in the rooms, the sounds of her moving around, her toothbrush in the bathroom, her magazines on the coffee table... But he'd settled back into his old mode again and the promise of seeing her again at work, together with the frequent phone calls from his place to hers, and at one point the other way around, was satisfactory enough.

The first night at her own apartment had been wonderful. She'd almost forgotten how used she was to leading a very private life, and now she could see clearly the benefits of it again. The peace, the ease with which she did everything in her own pace, how she could surrender herself to work and writing and forget about everything else. However, eating dinner by herself and slipping into an empty bed at night had made her feel a bit lonely. That's something she had never experienced before. She missed Booth's company, his goodnight-kisses, and the things they did together. Fortunately, she hadn't felt ill-at-ease for being alone, as she'd suspected she might. Apparently the fact that Cummings was dead really was enough of a consolation to put her mind at ease. She had looked forward to work for more than one reason.

That first Monday at work, he greeted her in her office with a kiss that expressed how much he'd missed her. And she him. The Line, however, was pressing more on them than ever, warning them not to mix the work-related with the private. They found that after a little while, they could put their private lives aside pretty easily and continue to do their jobs the way they'd always done. If either of them wanted to discuss dinner arrangements, they would wait until lunch to do so.

Though of course, at some point, their co-workers would start to suspect something, and so Booth and Brennan had decided to act a bit more obvious, just to prepare them. One Friday night, when Booth was supposed to pick up Brennan from work to go to the theatre, she'd casually mentioned she and Booth were going on a date so she was going to leave early. For a moment, her co-workers had been silent, then Hodgins mumbled, "I knew it," and Angela wrapped her friend in a tight hug as everyone got back to their tasks as if nothing had happened, though with a hint of a smirk playing on their features. "I'm so happy for you, sweetie. But should you ever freak out, come to me first, okay?"

And that was that. Like Angela and Hodgins' relationship, Booth and Brennan's was quickly and effortlessly accepted. Somehow most people had seen it coming for ages.

They turned left and crossed the small park, their hands finding one another.

"I thought your speech was really wonderful, by the way."

"Thank you."

"So... about what you said then; do I really feel like family to you?"

"Of course you do, Booth. I started considering you my family a long time ago."

"You did?"

"Yes. I do, Booth."

She squeezed his hand and he smiled with satisfaction.

"So uh, what do you think about us, like this?"

She cast a sideways glance at his face, smiling slightly.

"At the moment, I find I am really content with my life."

"Just content?"

"No, Booth. I think... I'm happy."

She screwed up her luminescent eyes and he lifted her chin with his finger before lovingly pressing a kiss to her soft lips.

The words had slipped her lips in all honesty, and she stopped to review them. The past year had moved so fast. So much had happened and yet, so little. She had started a relationship with Booth, something she thought would never happen. Those months of living with him had taken her feelings for him on a roller-coaster ride. Everything had happened so fast, yet so subtle. She found herself in love before she had had the chance to block that kind of attachment. On the one hand, this was the only man whom she'd insisted she didn't want complicated relationships with, simply because their friendship meant too much to her to let go to waste. On the other hand, if ever a commitment like this would work for her, it was probably with him. The choice had been made for her when it became apparent, well, rather obvious, that he returned her affections.

She recalled the moment when she was starting to lose all hope, back at the apartment with Cummings. Though now it seemed like an eternity ago, his name still caused her to shiver inwardly. She had wondered, angrily, sad, why bad things continued to happen to her. Life had made her suffer, yet every time she had dealt with her trauma, every time she'd recovered. She'd been abducted, made believe she would die, harmed more times than she could count on the fingers of one hand, and there'd always come a next time, regardless. But now a year had passed, and nothing of the sort had happened. Actually, ever since she had consciously let Booth take care of her, since she had allowed herself to depend on him little by little, the bad things had stopped happening. She just felt so much calmer now. Had she been Booth, she might have assumed that she had learned her lesson and would now be left alone.

But that would be irrational, of course.

They stopped and she turned to him, looking up into his gentle, brown eyes.

Suddenly, he took another turn, pulling her with him. She was surprised when he stopped in front of a house. It was two stories high, built of white bricks, with a small garden in front that went around the house, to end in a spacious backyard. The windows were large, framed with wood, and the ceilings high. It had an old, however classy look. The house would be big enough to contain a family, though too large for just one person. All in all, it looked friendly and inviting. As the wind abated, a couple branches revealed a 'For Sale' sign.

"This seems like a wonderful house to me, Bones. What do you think?"

She waved her fingers through his again and cocked her head to the side, taking in the house in front of her.

"Yeah. It looks nice," she agreed simply. They stood there for a while, watching imaginary figures move about behind the windows, a smaller one playing on the porch.

"Let's continue our walk, Booth."

"Yeah."

What had brought them together had been gruesome, but now, they were ready for the good times.

_**The End**_

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_**A/N: Well, that was it! We'd like to thank all of you who read our story and were so kind to leave their thoughts. We mean it when we say that without your suggestions, this story wouldn't have been the same! You helped us by pointing out things that were unclear or even gave us in-depth psychoanalysis of the characters. So major thanks to all of you.**_

_**As for us, we'll begin planning our next story soon. Actually, we already have some ideas. It's going to be completely different from Never Say Never, but we assure you it will be as gripping, so if you don't want to miss it, Author Alert us!**_

_**Lots of love,**_

_**Magali & Catherine**_


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